Phantom Memories
by Mike'sGrrl
Summary: My interpretation of the Phantom story. EC...not for Raoul lovers. Rated M for violence and later sensuous scenes. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

Thank you for reading my phiction! I started this about 12 years ago, before I even knew fanfiction existed or had the internet. This is my own take on the "Phantom" story. I do not own the Phantom characters, but I do own the original characters in this story.

Thank you for reading and PLEASE review! Your Phantom authoress…

PART I

At last I stood on the stage of the grandiose Paris Opera House. I surveyed the spacious auditorium dizzily as the huge chandelier glittered regally from above, and I choked back tears as I stared at the thousands of velvet seats.

The shining brass trimmings and lush silk curtains seemed to gloat as they framed the stage in elegance. Beauty surrounded me on every side. "This can't be true," I whispered to myself. "This isn't possible."

Seeing the mop in my hand, I realized that it was. I tossed it aside in disgust and sat glumly on the edge of the stage. "Why?" I sobbed. "Why?"

I would never sing in this opera house. The thunderous applause, curtain calls, and enthusiastic patrons could never be mine. The program would never feature an ordinary house maid.

The sound of distant voices and authoritative footsteps became audible, and I hastily went back to mopping. Pushing back a straying curl of my dark hair, I sighed. There was no use complaining; it only made everything seem more miserable.

"Christine Daae, why haven't you finished mopping? The auditorium must be swept as well, and the curtain goes up in three hours." I turned to see Madame Giry, the head mistress, and her pretty daughter Meg, a ballet dancer.

"Forgive me, Madame," I pleaded. "I've tried--"

"Obviously, you did not try hard enough. Get back to work. Oh, and be sure to tidy the dressing rooms before the artists arrive. They abhor clutter." She left the stage in a showy, overly dramatic fashion and told her daughter not to be late for rehearsal.

I shuddered involuntarily. Madame Giry was a creepy personage, dressed from head to toe in a dingy black with frayed feather trimmings. Her pale face gave her a ghastly appearance, accentuated frightfully by the dark red lip color she used.

I glanced at her daughter, who was absently doing a few dance steps on the dry part of the stage. She was lightly complected as well, but her curly golden hair and freshly powdered pink cheeks lent her a warm, glowing look unlike her mother. She was about my age, perhaps maybe eighteen, but her poise and manner made her seem years younger.

"Don't worry about my mother," she said suddenly, wanting to start a conversation. "She's always on edge before an opening. Nothing can go wrong."

"She looked rather upset," I said.

"I assure you that you're not to blame for that. The managers just gave her another list of duties that can't possibly be accomplished by nightfall. Knowing her, though, she'll find some way to get them done."

I was glad for the conversation, as I seldom had the chance to speak to anyone. My life had grown to consist of merely eating, sleeping, and working. No music, no friendship, no family, no love...

Meg came closer and sat down on the stage. I began to put the mop away but stopped when she started to speak again. A chilling ambivalence had crept into her eyes, and I wondered what she was about to say. Meg was notorious for spreading tales throughout the ballet chorus.

"Are you going to clean the dressing rooms now?" she asked in a dark, foreboding tone.

"Yes," I said, nervously awaiting her reply.

"I'd avoid number five if I were you," she said eerily.

I shivered. "Why?"

"It's haunted by the opera ghost," she explained, eager to terrify me. Meg suddenly reminded me of her mother as she whispered to me about the legend.

"Dressing room number five is in a lonely corridor far from the others," she began in a low tone. "No one ever uses it. They say the Phantom lives there. Opera scores are sometimes found on the table, and no one ever admits to putting them there. There's even been candelabras lit which were never brought into the room."

"Musical scores and candles? They seem rather trivial to have started a rumor about a phantom," I remarked with false bravado.

"Christine, no matter what you may want to believe, there _is_ a phantom. I've seen him. He darts around the backstage area. Sometimes it is possible to hear his music coming from deep below the opera," Meg insisted.

My hands had turned to ice, and I quivered. "So what does this 'Phantom' look like?" I inquired with numb sarcasm, trying to hide my fear.

"Nobody has ever seen his face because he always wears a mysterious white mask. Usually he'll wear a black hat and a long cape, but it's hard to tell since he's always in the shadows."

"Meg!" a voice called. "Are you coming to rehearsal?"

Meg flushed and gathered her things. "Remember what I said, Christine. Phantoms can be dangerous."

I laughed nervously and handed her a toe shoe, which she had dropped in her haste. "Thanks for the advice," I said wryly.

When she had left, I decided to pay a visit to the mythical fifth dressing room. I was overwhelmed with a powerful curiosity, and I knew I would not rest until I possessed the truth. Ever since Father died, I had been terribly superstitious but did not believe all ghosts were evil.

My heart leapt as a thought occurred to me. Perhaps the Phantom was the spirit of my father, coming to rescue me from my gloom at last! I put the mop away and headed quickly to the abandoned hall, where number five loomed ominously ahead.

I crossed myself as I placed my hand on the doorknob, not knowing what I was about to discover. Then, with a deep breath and trembling hand, I opened the door and walked into the room.

The fragrance of rose potpourri filled the air, taking me aback for a moment. The infamous candelabra were lit and gave off a soft, friendly glow, and I knew that the Phantom, whoever he might be, was not as menacing as described.

My eyes wandered to the dressing table, where I noticed several large librettos. I cried out with delight as I recognized several famous operas. They were my old companions, consisting of arias which I had learned to love and perform at a very young age, and I flipped through them hungrily. I found a few of my favorites and sang a couple of bars.

I was interrupted by a voice that dazzled me. It was a beautiful tenor which slowly enveloped me in its gentle majesty. I had never heard anything so glorious, so irresistible. I wanted nothing more than to locate the source of the voice and keep it with me forever.

"Christine," it whispered, "I have waited for you to come. Ever since you came to the Opera, I have followed you. I heard you at the auditions and knew that you were the voice I had longed for all of my life. I promise that you will sweep the Opera no more, as you will be the greatest singer who ever lived!"

The passion in the voice was astounding, and I trembled. "Who are you?" I entreated breathlessly. Magically, the full-length mirror on the far wall pivoted slowly to reveal a man in a long black cape and glimmering white mask.

"Some call me a ghost, others the Phantom. But alas, I am Erik," he declared. Blackness swirled around me, and I remembered no more. I had fainted in the arms of the Opera Ghost!


	2. Chapter 2

Sometime later I awoke to find myself lying on the sofa in a dressing room, covered with a black satin cloth. I fingered the material curiously for a moment and recognized it to be a cloak or cape.

I sat upright in puzzlement. It was not a dream after all. I had not only encountered the elusive Phantom of the Opera but discovered that he had taken an interest in me for some odd reason. My eyes wandered around restlessly, and I noticed an envelope on the dressing table.

The note was on thick, cream-colored stationery and written in a clumsy, childish hand. It was addressed to me, and I opened it with caution, not knowing what to expect.

_Christine,_

_Have no fear. I would never harm you. You are safe here._

_I have written to the management and informed them that you will be absent for an indefinite period of time due to illness. During this time, I promise to make you a great star._

_I have awaited a voice such as yours all my life. You have a limitless potential, and I know you are destined for a brilliant career. Only, you must have training to surpass the obstacles you have at the present time. I am aware that there is an emotional connection of which hinders you, and I will do my best to help you overcome that._

_Believe in me, for I always keep my word. Together, we shall astonish the world!_

_Remember, I am never far from you. Come here tomorrow evening after the performance, and your training can begin. _

_I shall be waiting..._

_Erik_

I put the letter down and sat at the dressing table. I felt strange and could not think properly. The Phantom was going to give me voice lessons? It was inconceivable, entirely absurd. I had to be totally insane.

The letter, though, was concrete evidence that I was not mad. Besides, his name was Erik. He was a man, not a ghost. Why, then, did he live in the opera house? And why did he take such an interest in my voice? What did he see in me, the tired, timid maid who did not own a dress without a rip or snag?

Then there was the mystery of the mask. Why hide a face when one could sing as lovely as an angel? Perhaps he wanted to keep his talent anonymous, but I could hardly understand why.

There were so many questions which I wanted to ask but dared not, at least not yet. I suddenly felt embarrassed about swooning. How juvenile! I was surprised he still was eager to teach me after seeing how immature I was.

I shook the wrinkles out of the cape and hung it carefully on a hook. After folding the letter and placing it back in the envelope, I hid it in the front of my dress. I turned off the gas lights but left the candles flickering as I closed the door behind me.

Everyone was in the auditorium attending _Carmen_ , so I had no difficulties leaving without being seen. Once outside, I found a carriage waiting for me. I was glad, for it was considered a disgrace for young women to walk the Parisian streets after dark, as well as dangerous.

My flat was located in a poorer section of the city, and I must have looked ridiculous ascending from a carriage in such a place. My torn dress and disheveled hair were reminiscent of Cinderella's when she came home from the ball after midnight. I distractedly began thinking about my shabby wardrobe when I noticed a crowd of drunken men assembled in front of my building.

I stiffened and attempted to slip past unheeded, but it was not to be. "Look here, boys! A pretty girlie!" croaked an overweight pig with a belch.

I tried to run, but a tall, grisly man with a greasy mustache grabbed my arm fiercely. "So soon, sweetheart? But we've only just met. The night is young, come pass it with me."

I cried out and pulled away, but it was to no avail. The scoundrel placed his foul, disgusting mouth over mine, and I wanted to die. I was overwhelmed with shame and desired nothing more than to cut off the inebriate's filthy lips. I struggled, but my efforts were futile. The drunkards gathered around, shouting crude obscenities while swigging from their brown bottles.

Just when I thought it could not be any worse, my solicitor came upon the letter. "Hello, what's this? Does the little whore have a steady fellow?"

I fought wildly to regain possession of the note, but two of the men held me back. "No!" I screamed. "Let go of that."

The grisly man laughed dreadfully, showing his gnarled teeth and spewing sickening fumes. "We got her riled up now, boys. Let's see what's so special about this little love letter."


	3. Chapter 3

All of the sudden, a black shadow crept behind him. I gasped in astonishment and relief, and the man turned around to see what I had seen. The letter was ripped out of his hand, and he fell to the ground from a heavy blow.

"Get your hands off her," Erik growled to my captors. "Or do you want me to finish you as well?"

The hood of his cape fell, and the mask became visible. A few of the men attempted to attack him, but they swiftly recoiled and fled. Those who were not wise enough to flee laid suffering on the cold pavement. He came to me and offered his hand. "Come, we shall go away from here. I will take you somewhere safe, where no one can hurt you."

I accepted his offer not because I had no other alternative, but because I trusted him. I had only known him for a short time, yet I felt a kinship between us. At that moment I realized he had appointed himself my own personal guardian angel, serving to protect me from all dangers and pain. How fate had brought us together I did not know, nor could I imagine where this road would lead. All I knew was that I needed safety and guidance, and these things he promised me.

We traveled quickly in the night, racing past buildings and fountains and through boulevards and avenues. Not a word was exchanged between us during the flight. I was dizzy and worn from the day's trauma, and I soon grew weary from the frantic pace. In utter exhaustion I stumbled clumsily and collapsed on the cobblestone. I had no idea where Erik's destination was, and I was too tired to go any further.

"Erik, I can't go on any longer," I told him wearily. "I'm so exhausted. I've used all of the energy I have."

To my surprise, he lifted me into his arms and continued the journey. "We're almost there," he said. "I am afraid that if we do not keep moving the mob shall catch up with us."

I clung to his cloak quietly, unable to speak as he carried me through the dark streets. I felt inexplicably warm, physically and emotionally. I did not understand my feelings, and my ignorance frightened me. I was contented and secure, but I wondered if I should feel that way. The day's events had been bizarre, and I realized I was not sure of anything anymore.

I did not have much more time to think, as I fell asleep peacefully when he reached the opera. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a small rowboat which skimmed across a dark lake. A thick gloom filled the atmosphere, as fog often does on Parisian mornings. There was a dank, musty smell which sent shivers up my spine, and I asked Erik where we were.

"Seven stories below the opera house, on the underground lake," he explained. "I live here, in this dark labyrinth where no one can ever find me."

As I looked around the cold, dungeon-like environment, I became greatly puzzled. Why would anyone condemn himself to live in such exile, entirely devoid of natural light? I had the strangest feeling that I had entered a new world, one full of riddles and mystery.

The boat at last reached the shore. Erik carefully helped me out and led me to an interesting structure which I presumed to be his house. He opened the door with an odd-looking item, his variation of the ordinary key. Once inside, I was astonished by the beautiful decor of the drawing room, full of heavy, gleaming oak furniture with brass trimmings. There was a piano in the corner, and I noticed that no mirrors were present. I pushed the thought away as he led me to another part of the house.

The other rooms were just as detailed and scrupulously elegant. The fine furnishings and ornate adornments all suggested that the owner was quite wealthy and had wonderful taste in decorating. A wondrous library was home to hundreds of leather-bound volumes and an immense oak writing desk. Beyond the library was a wonderful kitchen, filled with both essential and unique tools of the culinary craft. There was also a room entirely devoted to music, with an immense pipe organ lining an entire wall and papered with tiny notes. A large mahogany bookcase leaned against another wall, and I saw it was full of musical scores.

I wanted to stay in the room and thumb through the music, but he told me there would be time for that later. "You are tired," he said. "Here is a place where you can rest in comfort."

We had come upon the last door in the house. "This room is yours," he said and opened it. "As it belongs to you, I promise the utmost privacy and security. My room is across the hall, however, should you need anything." He bade me goodnight and walked away, and I was once again filled with wonder as I became acquainted with 'my room.'

The furniture here was entirely white. A small writing desk sat invitingly in one corner, and a comfortable bed in another. There was a dressing table with a delicate crystal vase which held a single scarlet rose, and I removed the ribbon that attached a small card. "Welcome home," I read.

I opened the wardrobe and gasped in delight. Dozens of beautiful dresses hung before my eyes, made from the finest, most sought-after materials. I discarded the torn merino I wore and slipped on a lovely silken nightgown. I even discovered a pair of matching slippers!

I noticed another door, and it led me to a fancy private bathroom. Gold fixtures, marble tub...the luxury never ceased. I realized that this was the only room which contained a mirror.

I came back to the room and sat on the bed. It was all too much. He had carefully planned everything to be perfect for me. Tears stung my eyes, and I wept upon the soft down pillow. "It's not my voice he's interested in," I murmured. "He loves me."

I did not know why he loved me nor for how long, but I knew that his adoration was not a simple attachment. He had designed his life around mine, and I began to doubt I was worthy of him. There was a mystery which surrounded me, almost as thick as the fog which bordered the house.


	4. Chapter 4

I awoke from a fitful slumber with a contented yawn. Stretching, I realized I had no idea what time of day it was. It could have been morning or night; it was difficult to judge in an isolated world of eternal darkness.

I lit a candle and began the task of dressing. My first complication laid in deciding which gown to wear. So many luscious concoctions! Each was made from fabrics I had only dreamed I would wear. Erik certainly had been overly generous in trying to make me feel welcome.

I finally donned an azure dress which matched my eyes perfectly. The gown surrounded me in a delicate cloud of beauty, and I rushed to the mirror in the bathroom to see how it looked.

I gasped when I saw my reflection. I hardly recognized the elegant, graceful young woman who gazed back at me. She was petite with mystical blue eyes, ivory skin, and dark hair pulled up too severely. Inspired, I let my hair down and watched it cascade around my face in thick waves.

It was as if I had been touched by a magic wand. All the sharp angles and painful lines disappeared from my face. I looked like one of the fairies I had once created stories about in my childhood. The change thrilled me, and I began singing softly as I tidied my room. I felt the hateful years I had known slip away, and I looked at life with a renewed interest.

I found a tray with a decanter of coffee and a plate of croissants upon the dressing table. I had not realized how hungry I was, and I was quite thankful for the delicious pastries. I stopped eating for a moment, as I could hear music playing. Intrigued, I followed the melody as it led me toward the drawing room. I recognized one of Mozart's pieces, but I had never heard it performed with such emotion and artistic beauty. I stood in the doorway in breathless awe, hardly daring to move.

Erik sat at the piano, totally absorbed by his music. In wonder I watched his hands caress the keyboard with marvelous accuracy and lightning speed. I noticed that he had graceful, almost delicate hands which were perfectly suited to the quick, swift chords and staccatos. I also observed that he wore a different mask. Though still white, it did not cover his mouth and chin. I was able to see the ecstatic facial expression which overcame him as he lost himself further into the music.

All too soon the piece ended, and I was not sure whether he had become aware of my presence. At any rate, I showed my appreciation by applauding with great enthusiasm.

He turned slowly, and when he saw me I found myself unable to breathe as he studied me with adoring eyes. "I am glad that you enjoyed it," he said softly after that crucial, nerve-racking moment. "Would you like to sing now?"

I nodded, still at a loss for words. He motioned for me to come to the piano, and then started to ask me questions about my vocal training. I looked away, as the past had so many memories I had longed to repress.

"It is important for me to know how you have been trained in order for me to teach you," he said gently. "I know there is something in the past that must have hurt you, but I cannot help until you tell me. Please trust me."

I looked up again. "It's not that I don't trust you, but I don't want to remember. It hurts too much."

"Christine, the pain will lessen once you let go. You can't hold your emotions inside forever; it will make you bitter as you grow older. I know from experience," he added quietly. "You have let your past experiences ruin your confidence and thus handicapped your voice. I can be of no assistance if you do not do your part."

His voice was still gentle, but I knew he was growing impatient. I did not wish to lose the only person who was willing to help me, so I decided to speak at last. Trembling, I went over to one of the plush chairs and sat down slowly. I took a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. "Here is my story," I began nervously.


	5. Chapter 5

My father was a peasant violinist in Sweden. He traveled throughout the country, making a living by playing at fairs and festivals. His musicianship was hailed by many, but he remained poor despite his popularity.

One day he noticed that his usual audience at an annual Stockholm festival had greatly depleted. Confused, he asked a gentleman passing by where everyone was. The man looked at him in surprise. "Haven't you heard? Christine DuBois is performing in the other side of the park."

"Who is this woman?" my father inquired. "Why does everyone want to see her?"

"You've never heard of Christine DuBois? She is the latest operatic sensation. It has already been prophesied that she will be the greatest singer who ever lived."

My father decided to see the singer for himself. He was very appreciative of fellow musicians, and he especially liked to hear rising stars. He was quite unprepared for what he saw, however.

The girl was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, with glowing blond hair and sparkling sapphires for eyes. He was awestruck by her beauty, but when she opened her mouth to sing he gasped in disbelief. Every note floated in the air with a penetrating sweetness, and her range seemed to have no boundaries. Her angelic voice and sweet nature deeply affected my father, and he knew he had to speak to her after the performance. He waited until the crowd had dispersed and then shyly walked up to the young singer.

"Please forgive me for intruding. I know you must be very tired, but I just had to see you. I have never heard anyone sing like you did this afternoon. It was astonishing," he heard himself say.

She flushed at his compliments. "Thank you, kind sir. I am glad you enjoyed it. Who might you be?"

"Charles Daae," he answered and stooped to kiss her hand. "I am merely a peasant violinist, but I believe we share the same love of music."

My father fell in love with Christine and she with him. They began to perform together, and the crowds became larger and larger. Yet stardom was no longer their dream. Happiness for one came in the form of the other. They married and moved to France, living with Christine's spinster sister until they could afford their own home.

Christine no longer pursued her career after her marriage, even though her success in Paris was certain. They lived in a rural area called Perros, where the upper-class came to enjoy their summer chateaux. My father taught violin to children of the aristocrats and bourgeoisie. He was in high demand, and they began to plan their new life in their own home.

I was soon born, but the joy of my birth was lost with the tragedy of my mother's death. She had died before she could lay eyes on me, and my grieving father handed me to my aunt after naming me after my mother. I saw little of my father in my early years, as every day I grew to look more and more like my namesake. My resemblance pained him, and he attempted to ignore me.

My aunt was angered at his actions. She made every effort to bring him closer to me, but her attempts were futile. He insisted that he could do nothing for me and that he would rather forget than resurrect a ghost.

I was equally determined to gain my father's affection. I loved to hide behind the sofa and secretly listen to him play his violin. If I made myself visible, he would hastily put the instrument away and leave the room, but if I sat discreetly I could listen to the beautiful music for hours.

One day when I was five, I found the prettiest shell at the beach. I ran into the house to show my aunt, singing and skipping happily. I flew past my father, who was reading in the drawing room, but I did see him drop his book in amazement. He followed me into the kitchen, which surprised both my aunt and me.

"When did you begin to sing?" he asked me, a strange look in his eye.

I was too frightened by this sudden confrontation to answer. My aunt spoke for me instead. "She has always been singing, ever since she could speak. Even before then she used to hum a little tune. Her mother was the same way."

He looked at her sharply for mentioning his deceased wife, but he softened as he turned to me. "Would you like to sing for your father?" he asked.

I was ecstatic. I sang a hymn I had just learned at church, and he listened attentively. When I had finished, he asked me if I would like to have singing lessons. I was greatly excited. "Can you make me a famous singer like Mama?" I asked innocently. My aunt had told me all about my mother's career.

This time there was no pain in his eyes. He suddenly held me close and whispered, "Yes, you will be a singer like your mother. Your voice is her gift to you, did you know that?" When I shook my head, he smiled and there were tears in his eyes. "You are so like her," he said, more to himself than to me.

From that day on, my father and I were the closest of friends. Under his direction I lived only for him and for music. By ten I had mastered arias that gave professional sopranos difficulties. When I was seventeen he enrolled me in the Paris Conservatory, where I would study voice with the world's greatest. By the end of the first semester, however, I was miserable. The school was not what I had expected at all. Every technique that my father had taught me was drilled out of my mind. I was ridiculed and punished for my voice. My professors told me I was too flowery and sweet. "People don't pay to see a little girl sing at the Opera," they said.

The boarding hall in which I lived was cramped, cold, and unfriendly. Above all the other discomforts, I was terribly homesick. I missed my father and aunt desperately. I had made no friends, only rivals. I hated this bitter competitive nature of the profession, but I did not dare to disappoint my father. I knew he had spent his every penny on my musical education in hopes of fulfilling my dreams of stardom.

I was thankful for the holiday, but then a tragedy removed all thoughts of rejoicing from my mind. My father had died from pneumonia while I was on the train en route to Perros. At home, my aunt took me aside. I noticed her eyes were rimmed with sorrow and remorse.

"Christine," she said, "your father promised you a conservatory education, did he not?"

"Yes, of course," I replied, "but what is the matter?"

"There is no money to pay for your schooling," she answered sadly.

"No money? I thought it was paid for," I said in surprise. As much as I disliked the school, a conservatory degree was the only way I would be able to get into the Paris Opera.

"Only the first semester was paid," my aunt remarked. "Your father was certain he would be able to make ends meet when the time came. There's only a bit of money left now, and you will need it to live. I don't know what to tell you. I wish I could help you, but my health is poor and my income small."

"Don't worry, dear Aunt," I assured her. "I will find a way. If the conservatory has to wait, it has to wait." My words were empty, however. I had no idea what I would do. It was not proper for young girls to work, and I knew I could never earn enough to pay for an education.

Two weeks after my father had died, my aunt passed away as well. I was devastated. The only two people I had in the world were gone, and I was left to fend for myself. Destitute, heartbroken, and homeless, I begged for work. I earned a few francs cleaning and working on farms, and I used the money to pay for a train ticket to Paris. I had hated the conservatory, but I had loved the city. I believed that in such a large, bustling city there had to be a decent occupation.

I was wrong. There were so many others who littered the streets that I had to fight for every penny. At times I gave up all hope of living respectfully again, cursing my bad luck. I had sold my crucifix on its gold chain, as I had lost my faith anyway. I slept in the streets, learning to disregard the rats so I could get a precious few hours of sleep.

When I was nineteen, I received my first glimmer of hope. A kindly old woman came up to me and gave me five francs. "What is a pretty woman like you doing here?" she asked.

She seemed genuinely interested in me, so I told her my story. "Why, my dear, you are in the wrong part of the city. Go to the Opera, they're holding auditions this week."

I looked at her with huge eyes. "Really?" I asked.

She nodded. I thanked her for her help and the money, and I walked as fast as I could to the Opera House. The magnificent building loomed before me, and I felt as if I were entering a shrine. Before I could enter, a man walked past me. I recognized him at once. It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, who used to take violin lessons from my father. We used to play together when we were children, at the age where social status little mattered in friendship.

"Monsieur, do you remember me?" I asked excitedly.

He looked at me coldly, then turned away. "No."

"We were children together. My father gave you violin lessons. We grew up together."

He looked unimpressed. I glanced at his tailor-made dress suit and gleaming shoes and then back at my torn and tattered dress. He threw me a sou and continued his trek.

I was angry. I had not seen him since I was about twelve, but we were very close as children. I did not understand why he would reject me. Friends were supposed to stand together through the best and worst of times.

I shook off the encounter (as well as the measly sou) and went in for the audition. I was suddenly frightened. I had not sung for anyone since my father had died.

The managers exchanged distasteful glances when I entered, but they did not deny me the audition. When I sang, though, I knew I would not get a position. There was something missing from my voice, it was as if something in me had died. I left the room tearfully, now entirely devoid of hope and faith. Then a manager came and asked me if I would like to be a house maid. I took the offer at once. An honest, regular-paying job was a windfall after being on the street.


	6. Chapter 6

"And that is how you came to find me," I finished. I was surprised to find a soggy lace handkerchief in my hand. I had been unaware that I was crying.

"Christine, I cannot say how sorry I am," Erik said sincerely. "I can see how everything, your hope and your dreams, have slipped away."

"Will they this time, too?" I asked suddenly. "Can you truly help me? I've had so many disappointments, and I don't believe I could take any more."

"You doubt my expectations will prove real, then?" he commented. "My dear Christine, do you honestly think I would deceive you?"

I looked down at the carpet, embarrassed by my accusation. "No, I don't think you would lie. It's just seems so unreal that a perfect stranger would come up to me one day and offer to turn my life around. I don't really doubt your words, I am merely awed by them."

He stood and moved toward the piano. "Come, let me prove myself then. I think you shall be pleasantly surprised by what you can accomplish in one lesson."

I went to the piano obediently, but I did not believe my voice could change much in one day. He began to play scales and indicated for me to sing along. I opened my mouth, but at the first note he stopped and turned around.

"Christine, you really must try harder than that," he commanded. I shrunk back, feeling I was reliving my conservatory days. Then he continued, "If you sing like that, no one will hear what a beautiful voice you have."

I was totally unprepared for the compliment. I did not have time to thank him, however, because he immediately began an explanation of the importance of diaphragmatic breathing. He studied my posture for a moment and then told me to not tense my shoulders.

"Your throat must be relaxed in order to sing properly, and your neck and shoulders must be relaxed for your throat to relax," he informed me. "Try again."

This time I listened to his directions and found my sound to be much richer and fuller. I was surprised, but he was not yet satisfied. He made me continue the scales unaccompanied, and he moved my jaw in accordance to the tones. I felt awkward but was aware of improvement with each note.

We worked on scales for about an hour, but the time had flown for me. I had never been so absorbed in anything as I was when he was teaching me, and I already felt my old confidence returning. Every time he gave me a suggestion I worked hard to surpass his expectations as well as mine. I felt as if I could fly to the heavens on the wings of song, and I had never been happier.

Erik stopped playing the piano all too soon, and I sighed audibly. He looked pleased at my forlorn expression. "Would you like to continue?" he inquired, knowing what my answer would be.

I nodded, breathless with excitement. He suggested going to the music room and sifting through the old opera scores for a change from scales. I followed and stared at the vast selection of librettos.

"I'll never be able to choose!" I exclaimed. "These are all so wonderful."

He laughed. "There's plenty of time. If you don't sing it today, you can always sing it tomorrow. The music will always be here."

I picked up _Madama Butterfly_ and browsed through the well-thumbed pages. "I've always loved the 'Love Duet,'" I commented, "but I'd feel awkward singing it by myself."

"Then I shall sing it with you," Erik offered. I gave him the score, pleased that he thought I was worthy of singing with his truly astonishing voice. He sat at the grand organ and played the opening chords.

I began the song, trying to remember all the skills I had learned a few minutes earlier, and then he joined in the music. As soon as his tenor linked with my soprano, it seemed as if the entire world had dissipated from our view. There was nothing else in the room except our voices, each coming from deep within ourselves. I forgot all the rules and techniques of singing; they simply came naturally to me as I ran through the notes. The sounds around me were filled with pure emotion, beautiful and sweet. I had never dreamed that music could ever be so expressive and tender, nor that I would be part of its majesty.

The beauty was overwhelming, and tears flowed down my face even as I sang. I glanced at Erik and saw that he too was weeping, his mask glistening with tears. When the song had ended, there was a long moment of silence between us. There were no words to describe the emotions that the duet had created. I had never before realized the true power of music and knew I would never be the same again.

Erik stood up slowly and placed the scores back on the shelves. I wanted to say something, but I could not think of anything that was worth saying. At last, he turned to me and smiled. "I told you that you would be the greatest singer who ever lived. Do you believe me now?"

I shook my head modestly. "I'm not sure if I'll ever be the greatest singer, but I feel so much more confident. I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you have done for me. How can I ever repay you?"

He turned away, and I was aware of a thick gloom which pervaded the air around him. "It is to you whom I am indebted. Christine, do you know what type of life I've lived? How despairing and lonely I have been? Now that I have you to teach, I feel that my life has not been such a waste after all. I have a purpose, and in the little time that I have known you I have felt as if I have been placed in a new world. Now, at last, I--"

"Have a friend," I interrupted and placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and looked at me, as if he could not believe his ears.

"Thank you," he said simply, unable to say anything else.

After a brief silence, I decided to ask why he wore the mask. I felt nothing about his face could change my feelings toward him. I was curious, yes, but my curiosity was not a morbid one. I was not the type of woman who swooned over every handsome face she laid eyes upon, and I only wanted to know why he hid himself. I wanted to be able to connect a face with the name and voice I was beginning to know so well.

"Erik," I began, mustering up my courage. He looked at me quietly, waiting for me to continue. "May I see your face?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Erik," I began, mustering up my courage. He looked at me quietly, waiting for me to continue. "May I see your face?"

The question was merely an innocent request, but it became clear that I should have never opened my mouth. He turned around sharply, covering his mask with both hands in a protective gesture. I noticed that he was shaking with a terror I could not fathom.

"You must never ask me that," Erik moaned, his intense pain evident in both his voice and posture.

I was confused. "Why?" I inquired, ignoring the warnings of my instincts.

"Christine, I would not wear this mask if there were not a reason. Please do not ask anymore." His voice attempted to sound calmer, but his trembling hands gave away his shaken emotions.

I was silent for a moment, not knowing how to proceed. I moved closer, trying to repair the damage I had evidently caused. "Erik, you care for me, do you not?" I inquired softly.

He turned around slowly. I knew that he could not lie about his feelings toward me, and he knew that I knew that. He looked down, unable to make eye contact.

"Christine, I love you more than anything in the world, and there is nothing I would not do for you," Erik said quietly.

"Then why not show me your face?" I countered gently. "Why not let me know you as you truly are?"

"Because the truth is ugly, Christine," he replied, bitterness creeping into his resonant voice. "I do not want you to know such horror."

"Erik, I thought you had faith in me. I'm not so easily horrified as you may believe," I said.

"Your words are brave, but--"

I interrupted him. "Oh, Erik, let me see. I don't intend to gawk or scream; I only want to _know_. I promise I won't be afraid."

He sighed deeply, sadness combining with his fear. Very slowly, he untied the ribbon which held the mask in place, and I nearly shook with anticipation. When the mask was removed, I gasped and placed a hand over my mouth. Tears trickled down my face, and I was at a complete loss for words.

Erik's face was like nothing I had ever seen before. Nothing he could have said would have prepared me for the astonishing sight which I beheld. His eyes, I noticed for the first time, were mismatched, one green and one brown. The cheekbones were too high, causing the eyes to look sunken in his skull. The worst part of his facial physique, though, was his skin. Yellow and gnarled, it seemed to stretch too tight over his bones. Dents and bubbles landscaped the surface of his face, and I could also detect permanent scars from the constant use of a mask.

Erik watched my reaction, no doubt expecting disgust and terror. I felt nothing but intense compassion. "I'm sorry," I whispered at last, knowing it was a trivial thing to say. "I'm so very sorry."

I did not know what else to say or do. The silence of the room suffocated me, and I trembled with emotions I could not identify. Confused, saddened, and ashamed of myself, I ran to my room. I collapsed on my bed with a sob, hiding my face in the soft pillows.

I thought of what a dreadful solitude he had lived, and the cruel, vicious reactions he must have encountered from those who had seen him. I understood now why he was so hesitant to show me the truth; he no doubt expected my rejection. I wondered if he had ever been touched with kindness or felt the warmth of true happiness in his lifetime.

My heart was full of great pity and sadness, and at length I changed my clothes and washed my face. The cool water soothed my hot, tear-stained cheeks, and I looked up into the mirror critically. I chided myself for being caught up in beauty when Erik never dared to keep a mirror lest he see his reflection.

I gathered my thoughts and my strength and returned to the music room. Erik was not there, and I continued to walk through the house in search of him. I found him in the library, writing furiously in a black volume at the golden oak desk. He had replaced the mask, and its presence made me sorrowful.

"Erik."

He glanced up at me and quickly slipped the book into the desk drawer. I moved closer, sensing that he felt uncomfortable moving toward me. I heard him sigh, as if he had been dreading this moment for some time.

"I suspect you want to go back," he said quietly. His eyes, which stared down at the grain of the wood, seemed unable to look at me.

I was taken aback. "Do you really think me so superficial?" I asked. "Your friendship means a great deal to me. I would never relinquish it for the sake of your face." My mind involuntarily went to thoughts of the Vicomte de Chagny and the loss of our friendship due to social standards.

It was his turn to be surprised. "You are not horrified...appalled?"

I shook my head vehemently. "No, Erik. I am only saddened."

"What makes you sad?" he inquired softly. He looked up, a feeble glimmer of hope flickering in his mismatched eyes.

"What a life you must have known! It makes me cringe with shame to think that I had felt sorry for myself when you have experienced nothing but rejection." I placed a compassionate hand on his, and his eyes filled with tears. It took me a moment to realize that he was weeping because I had shown him kindness.

"I'm sorry," Erik stammered emotionally. "You are the only person who has shown me compassion. I do not know how to react."

I was deeply touched by his display of feelings, but I sensed his embarrassment. I turned to admire the hundreds of books that were neatly aligned on the shelves which covered the walls. Many were quite old and written by foreign authors who I did not recognize.

"Do you like to read?" Erik asked me. He had collected his thoughts and was now calmly standing behind me.

"I used to read with Father when I was young, but I haven't read much since," I replied regretfully. "You have so many books. I've never heard of most of these titles."

"Reading can take you on the journey of a lifetime," he declared thoughtfully. "Books draw you into a marvelous new world, one that can last long after the final page has been turned."

"Charlotte Bronte, who was she?" I inquired, examining a book with a red cover.

"A great English authoress," Erik replied. He noticed the title which I held. "_Jane Eyre _ is a wonderful novel. You would enjoy it, I believe."

I brought the book to my face, inhaling the warm, papery aroma of the pages. "May I borrow it?" I asked.

"Certainly," he answered, pleased. "When you finish that one, feel free to help yourself to another."

"Have you read all these books?" I wondered, staring at the vast sea of volumes which lined the room.

"Yes. Some once, some twice, and others I can quote word-for-word. One must do something in perpetual solitude." There was a hint of bitterness in his tone. I frowned, unsure how I should reply. I was once again aware of the thick gloom which enveloped his world.

"You must be hungry," Erik said suddenly. "Wait in the drawing room. I shall bring you something."


	8. Chapter 8

He left the room so quickly that I did not have a chance to ask if he would like help in the kitchen. I shook my head with a smile and went to the drawing room as instructed. Cuddling into an overstuffed chair, I opened _Jane Eyre _and began to read.

When Erik came into the drawing room, bearing a heavily laden tray, I was already deeply absorbed in the novel. I did not want to put it down, but I marked the page I was on and set the book aside. I watched in amazement as he arranged the silver and meticulously garnished plates. Entree after entree was set before me, and I was overwhelmed by all of the food.

"Erik, this is far too much!" I protested laughingly. "You shouldn't have gone through so much trouble!"

"It wasn't any trouble," Erik replied. He gestured to my book as he sat across from me. "Are you enjoying the novel?"

"It's wonderful," I responded. I accepted the plate he offered me and sampled a bite of chicken. It was by far the most exquisite thing I had ever tasted, inexplicably tender and flavorful. I was astonished to discover that among being a musical genius, architect, and literary enthusiast, he was a most accomplished chef.

"This is marvelous," I exclaimed. "Is there any field in which you are unskilled?"

He accepted my compliments quietly, stating that one must learn to cook if he is to survive alone. We talked little during the meal, and after we had eaten I rose to clear the dishes.

Erik stood at once. "Christine, why don't you go back to your reading? I'll take care of this."

"No, let me do something," I argued. "You've done enough already."

He at last relented to allow me to help him. I was impressed by the order and precision of the kitchen. Every item was neatly in its place, making it easy to find a particular object at any given moment.

With the two of us working, the kitchen chores were finished quickly. As I returned the last piece of china to its place, Erik asked me if I would like to row on the lake. I assented at once, happy to find an activity in which we could both participate. I would have enjoyed spending an evening reading _Jane Eyre_ , but I also knew it would have been selfish. One of the things I had noticed most about Erik was his hunger for simple human contact. To talk, to listen, to laugh, to sing...these were basic actions by which everyone used to communicate. Yet Erik had never had the opportunity to be with people on a regular, ordinary basis. I realized that my companionship was not significant solely because of his love for me but gave him a sense of relating and belonging with others as well.

The gloomy lake lay silent and foreboding in the basement of the Opera, but I was no longer frightened by its chilling ambiance. The slow, gliding motion of the rowboat was strangely soothing. I felt comforted and at peace, the thick fog being a mere cloak shielding me protectively from any harm I might encounter.

As I stared down at the leaden waters, I remembered the trauma of the previous night. I was afraid to think of what might have happened had Erik not miraculously entered the scene. Curious, I asked him how he knew I was in trouble.

He only shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I just had a terrible feeling of foreboding and could not rest until I placed it."

"But how did you know it dealt with me?" I wondered.

He shook his head. "I suppose I have another sense, second sight if you will. I can't explain it. No one can. I am only thankful that I trusted my intuition and followed my instincts."

"As am I," I responded. "I never thanked you for saving me." Erik turned away in embarrassment. He seemed unable to deal with my gratitude, and we were quiet for a time.

He seemed to pondering deeply, and he suddenly asked me if I really did live on the streets. I was surprised he brought up the subject but answered accordingly. "Yes, I did. I had no place to go; no where to turn."

"How did you ever survive?" Erik said, his mind obviously reeling by the innumerable misfortunes I may have suffered. "The streets of Paris are filthy and rough, hardly a place for a delicate young girl like yourself. If only I had known, if only I could have rescued you sooner from the murk and slime of the dark pavement."

"I am here now," I interjected. "You don't know how wonderful it is to be treated as a real person after being kicked and spit upon in the streets. Since I've worked at the Opera, things have been better, but I never felt akin to anyone until now."

Something in my words must have struck a chord deep within his tortured memory, for he looked away and sighed heavily. "You have known such frustration, have you not?" I commented cautiously. I did not mean to pry, but I wanted to know what he had experienced in order for me to understand the ever-present ambiance of sadness which enveloped him.

Erik looked at me sharply. "How did you know? Or did you merely assume my life has been a misery because of my face?" There was an unquestionable edge of anger present in his voice.

I was quite unprepared for his sudden mood change. Instinctively, I moved away from him. This defensive action angered him more, and he rowed fiercely to the bank of the lake. I went into the house meekly, and he followed, slamming the door with a savage force.

I turned toward him, my eyes filled with tears. "I don't understand why you are so upset. I didn't mean any harm; I only wanted to know..."

Erik crashed his fists on the piano, a mind-shattering discord that somehow seemed appropriate. "You only wanted to know? You only wanted to see my face, and now you only want to know the bleak tragedy of my blighted existence. You're very curious, aren't you? Well, I don't find it to be a very attractive quality in a woman. I prefer to rot in my wretchedness alone, thank you. I don't need your companionship to do that!"

Incensed silence fell upon the room, and we stared at each other blankly. Neither of us knew what we should say, and I wondered if our delicate rapport had been destroyed forever.

"I don't know why you are so angry," I said at last. "I wish I had never said anything in the first place." I fled to my room and closed the door, losing myself in a churning sea of confusion and self-pity.


	9. Chapter 9

I had never seen such sudden, fierce anger, and I dimly wondered how hard he must have been struggling to control it. The incoherence and bitterness of his rage marked the intense pain and tragedy he must have experienced as a child. I had unwittingly triggered a spring to the reality of his dark past.

I slipped into bed and cried myself to sleep yet again. I had never meant to hurt him, and I only wished everything would return to the sweet, carefree nature we had previously experienced. Before I drifted out of consciousness, I faintly heard the organ begin to play and then stop abruptly. Evidently even the power of music was too mundane to soothe his agitated soul.

When I awoke in the morning, my mind was refreshed and clear of the prior evening's disastrous confrontation. As I went to the wardrobe, I noticed an envelope slipped under my door and remembered everything I had wished to forget. For some time I simply sat in a cushioned wicker chair and stared at the envelope, hardly daring to reveal its contents. At length I opened it with trembling fingers and slowly unfolded the note inside, recognizing the clumsy hand which sprawled feverishly across the page.

_My dear Christine,_

_Forgive me for my unjust outbursts last night. You were not in the wrong. I had neither right nor reason to treat you as I did. My temper can be truly irrelevant at times, and I never meant to harm or frighten you._

_When you asked me about my past, it brought back an overwhelming rush of painful and terrifying childhood memories. I felt trapped, as if you were trying to make me relive those times. Like you, I did not want to recall those horrible moments which have scarred me for life._

_I realize now that you were only attempting to help me, as I was when you needed to overcome your past. I allowed myself to forget what I had told you, and I despise little more than a hypocrite._

_I have left this morning to take care of a few affairs. When I return, I will be quite willing to discuss anything you may so desire. I also wish to concentrate on your voice lessons so that we may begin making plans for your career._

_Again, I implore your forgiveness. Knowing that I've hurt you is the worst pain of all._

_Erik_

I heaved a deep sigh of relief. To lose his friendship now would have been nearly fatal to my soul and a disastrous blow to my career. Aside from Meg Giry, there was no one else except Erik who seemed aware of my existence. He was to only one to care for me, the only one to believe in my voice. For that, I knew I would always be indebted to him.

I dressed quickly and made coffee in the kitchen. After pouring myself a cup, I went into the drawing room and found _Jane Eyre _ lying on the table where I had left it the previous night. I was soon so absorbed in the novel that I forgot about my coffee sitting on the table. When I rose to take the cup of cooled liquid to the kitchen, Erik entered the house and looked relieved upon seeing me.

I noticed this reaction and questioned it. "Were you afraid I would leave?"

"I wasn't sure what to expect, not after I made such a mess of affairs last night."

How good it was to hear his gentle voice again, devoid of roughness and rage. A wave of thankfulness rushed over me, and I vowed to never make him angry again.

"I went to the management office and listened to the gossip this morning," he said. "They're infuriated at your departure, as it seems there are many problems with the staff. Their prima donna La Carlotta has been receiving a rather cool reception as of late, and less seats are being sold at every performance."

"Oh no," I exclaimed, terribly shocked. "Can the Opera go out of business?"

"I'm not sure. We will know in a month, though," he replied.

"Why a month?"

"There is to be a large concert to which the Empress herself has been invited. If this gala fails, the Opera will most definitely fall."

"There must be something that can be done," I remarked sadly. I could not imagine Paris without the Opera.

"I know how the concert can be made a success," Erik said suddenly.

"How?" I asked in wonderment.

"You shall star in it," he answered simply, seating himself calmly on the sofa.

I gasped and collapsed into a chair. "Me? But I'm not a member of the cast, let alone a prima donna!"

"You will be in a month," he said determinedly. "Don't forget, I am the Phantom of the Opera. I have my way of making arrangements."

"Even if you could arrange it, would I be ready to sing at such an event in a month?"

"I have little doubt of it," he replied reassuringly. "For the next two weeks we shall work intensely on your voice, preparing you for what is to come. After that, I intend to get you on the cast. Then you'll be assured of a good reception when you're selected to star at the concert."

"You've thought this out very carefully, haven't you?" I said in amazement. If his plans followed through, I would be back above the ground in only two weeks. I was unsure if I welcomed this or not.

"It is time I told you about myself," Erik began after a moment of thought-filled silence. "I should have told you last night, but I don't know what overcame me. It's difficult to relive unpleasant memories, isn't it?"

I nodded, recalling my recent experience. I sat back and listened as he told me a story I could never forget.


	10. Chapter 10

From birth it was evident Erik's life would be nurtured by bitterness, wrath, and shame. Both of his parents were young aristocrats, pampered by the admiration of high society. Once their son was born, however, their world of fortune and comfort was shattered. A child brings joy and pride to a house, but a monster brings only terror and disgust.

The village was mollified by its newest resident, and the townspeople came daily to attack the cursed house. After a week of being taunted, the young couple grew fearful for their lives. A gypsy caravan passed through the village, and Erik's father sold his only son to the band of vagrants for five francs.

The gypsy leader was greatly excited about his newest acquisition and looked upon the deformed child as an omen for his people. He bestowed the task of raising the infant on his daughter Shila, the most beautiful and highly prized young woman in the band.

Shila was the picture of youth and grace. Her tanned skin was soft and glowing, and she had silken hair of flowing raven. She was as gentle as she was lovely, and she was thrilled with her duty. Her father had not allowed her to marry until he could find an acceptable match for her, and she had desperately wished for something of her own to love. The unfortunate face meant little to her, and she loved and cared for Erik as she would have any other infant.

She raised him on goat's milk and affection, becoming known throughout the tribe as "the beautiful girl with the ugly child," Shila did not understand the repulsion of her family and friends, for she only saw beauty in the distorted little face. For hours she would sing to him, her silvery voice being the envy of the band. The others would listen and watch, shaking their heads at Shila's bliss. Many pitied her childlike innocence while they tersely awaited the day their fortune would be made.

When Erik was five, a determined Shila insisted on giving him a musical education. It was already evident that he had extraordinary vocal talent, and she knew he was destined for greatness. One day, as she was listening to him practice scales, a wise old woman stopped to speak to Shila. The woman was much respected in their circle, and she knew it was time someone told the girl the truth.

"Isn't he wonderful?" Shila exclaimed proudly after the last note had been issued.

"Yes, child," said the woman, her wrinkled brow heavy with the passing years. "Perhaps too wonderful for his own good."

Shila's dark eyes widened in sudden fear. "What do you mean, Madame Rosa?"

"Shila, do you know why your father bought Erik?"

Shila shook her head. "I only know how much I love him, and that I can never live without him."

"Your father bought him so he could do his own act at the fairs when he is older," Madame Rosa responded drearily.

"Oh, that would be perfect for him! Then everyone would see how talented Erik is!"

The old woman shook her withered head sadly. "He means for him to be a freak attraction."

Shila grabbed Erik's shoulder protectively. "Never!" she protested vehemently. "I will not allow my son to experience such horror!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Shila," Madame Rosa said. "You're young. Your father has finally arranged a marriage for you, and you can have your own children. Erik's act will make the whole camp rich."

"I don't want to get married," Shila announced angrily. "I'm perfectly happy. No one, not my father or anyone else, is going to take Erik away from me." With a toss of her vibrant raven hair, she took Erik's hand and strode to her tent.

Late that night, Shila made her escape. She packed their few belongings and awoke her sleepy son, desperate to find a place where they could once again live in peace. Moving quickly and quietly, they left the camp unnoticed and headed toward the forest.

Feeling protected in the deep wood, Shila let her guard down and sang softly with Erik in an attempt to keep him awake. They sang of better times to come, when there would be no need to run from anyone. They little knew that their beautiful music would be their undoing, as a small group of drunken men overheard them while camping in the wood.

Shila's voice dried in her throat when the three men approached her. Instinctively, she hid Erik behind her, but it was to no avail. The unfortunate child had already been seen.

One of the pigs, a grisly bearded man, whistled enthusiastically at poor Shila's beauty. His hand went to the knife in his belt, and he pointed it menacingly at her. "If you try to run, we'll hunt you down and kill you!"

Shila shook with terror. She knew there was no way she could flee from three men, and she was frightened for Erik's fate. She had little time to think, however, as one of the men grabbed her and forced her to the ground.

Erik cried out in horror, and a fat man tied his hand behind his back with rope. "We've got quite a specimen here, boys. We can sell him to that traveling freak show for a bundle, I bet."

In the meantime, the other two men were accosting a shrieking, struggling Shila, stabbing her brutally in front of the young boy who knew her as his mother. Erik was forced to stare in horror as Shila was murdered. Her sweet, young face, once so beautiful and gentle, was covered with blood and tears of pain.

The air deadened, and the dark, mystical eyes of the young gypsy girl closed eternally. Erik's last vision of his mother was the sight of her mutilated, bloody body being covered with dry leaves to be forgotten in the dreary wood.

At this point, Erik broke down with intense, shaking sobs of abysmal grief. I sat beside him in tears, wishing desperately I could erase that hideous memory from his mind.

"When I saw those men accosting you, I felt I was in that forest all over again," he declared between sobs. "In your eyes I could see my mother, so afraid and helpless. I have never, never understood how a man could attack a defenseless woman so violently. I don't think there is any crime more monstrous."

I took his hand and squeezed it compassionately. "Forgive me for making you tell me this," I said tearfully. "Please don't continue if it hurts you so much."

He looked up at me for a moment with a gentle smile. "This is painful, but I don't mind telling you, Christine. I feel you understand me, and no one except Shila has ever done that."

The three murderers did not bother to wait until morning to sell their latest find. They tromped into town and woke the owner of the infamous traveling freak circus, a harsh man who was no picture of beauty himself. Evan Chantier was known for his violent temper and cages of two-headed dogs and Siamese twins. One glance at Erik's malformed face brought a delighted, twisted smile to Evan's.

"I'll give you fifty francs," he offered quickly.

The overweight man was already handing Erik over to Evan, but the bearded crook halted. "Wait, Evan. He's not just ugly; he can sing. We need at least a hundred. Where else are you going to find a singing corpse?"

Evan snarled but handed over the money eagerly. He grabbed Erik's thin arm and shoved him into a cold, dirty cage. The boy cried bitterly, frightened and appalled by his gloomy fate.

"Shut up, you whimpering imbecile!" Evan growled and brought forth a large bull whip. With a loud crack, he lashed Erik mercilessly on his back. The force of the blow tore his shirt and deeply lacerated the child's thin skin. Blood streaked onto his hands which were still fastened behind his back, and he stifled a scream of agony.

"That'll teach you," Evan declared, pleased by the result. "This afternoon we'll see what that ugly little face will do for my business. A singing corpse is certain to make my fortune." He locked the cage nonchalantly and went to his tent, leaving Erik bleeding in the darkness.

Although being precocious for a five-year-old, the trauma Erik had experienced was far beyond his level of comprehension. The brutal assault and slaying of Shila was a memory that could never leave him, a recurring nightmare that would stalk him for the rest of his existence.

Erik's life was to only grow worse. For seven years he was put on display in Evan Chantier's freak show, treated no better than a zoo animal. Taunted, whipped, threatened, and feared, his daily routine consisted only of pain. His caged surroundings, however, did not limit the enormous capacity of his far-reaching mind. During his abuse and solitude he created for himself a dream world, one in which the power of music and intelligence surpassed the ugliness of his face. He would secretly work on his vocal training in the evening and early morning. Pure, clear, and expressive, he could sing in any octave. There was a mysterious undertone in his voice which lent it a slightly hypnotic quality, and he little knew how enrapturing his song could be.

One evening, Erik discovered the secret to the lock which held him captive in his filthy cage. He had mulled over the solution for years but had previously experienced nothing except defeat. When the camp had settle down for the night, he cautiously brought forth the small bits of sharp metal he had saved over time and went to work on the lock.

Within two minutes the door was open, and Erik stepped warily down from the cage. The sudden freedom excited him, and he ran quickly before anyone could notice his absence. He ran fast and furious, moving farther and farther away from the man who had humiliated, beaten, and caged him.

Destitute and lonely, Erik managed to survive eating the berries and fruits of the forests. With the dried leaves he fashioned a mask to hide himself, in a sense becoming a creature of the wild. He learned to fend for himself, knowing that the world of man would never accept him as a fellow human being.


	11. Chapter 11

"How long did you live in the forests?" I asked.

"Not for very long," he replied. "By chance I happened to come in contact with Charles Garnier, the architect of this opera. He was a kind and giving man and offered me a chance to learn about his trade. I even helped build this theatre when I was fourteen, and I designed the labyrinth under the house."

"But how did you meet Monsieur Garnier?" I questioned in amazement.

"I was always experimenting with scientific research, building, and art. I had erected several tiny buildings from twigs and leaves, each designed with extraordinary detail. Garnier was on a hunting expedition when he came upon them and was impressed by their realism and architectural design."

"What did you do after the opera was finished?" I asked, wondering how this astounding tale would end.

"I designed houses through an agent Garnier had acquired for me. In fact, I still contract anonymously. Architecture is a remarkable science, but not quite as fulfilling as music. Speaking of which, I think it is time we began your lesson."

Erik rose and gestured for me to follow him to the music room. I obeyed and thought about the remarkable story he had told me. Brutality, death, hatred, and shame...he had experienced nearly every aspect of life except for love and tenderness. My heart ached for him, and I suddenly wondered if I could someday show him the love he had never thought possible for him to receive. Only time would tell.

Erik had been earnest about his career plans for me. After two weeks spent in a swirling tide of inexplicably powerful and vibrant music, he announced I was finally ready to perform. I was astonished by my rapid progress, but I could not believe I was prepared to audition for the company just yet. He merely laughed at my protestations and assured me I would awe all those who heard me.

"But what about my maid position?" I inquired. Certainly the managers and Madame Giry were angered by my departure.

"I've already notified the management of your resignation, and I scheduled an audition for tomorrow," Erik replied.

"Tomorrow!" I exclaimed, aghast at this revelation.

He closed the score on the music stand with slow deliberation and slipped it back on its shelf. "Why not?" he inquired. "It's time you performed on-stage. You're certainly capable of it."

I sighed and wrung my hands anxiously. My stomach was already churning, and I knew I would be a wreck the following day.

"I'll not have you turn into a bundle of nerves," Erik declared. "You must have confidence in yourself and faith in what I've taught you."

I nodded slowly, still too stunned to speak.

"Would you like to go for a walk, perhaps in the Bois?" he asked gently. "It may take your mind off tomorrow."

I was surprised at his suggestion. We had rowed occasionally on the lake; in fact, Erik had even taught me how to maneuver the skiff across the leaden waters, but that was the furthest we had ventured from the house. I knew he despised the world outside the Opera, so I never asked him to go anywhere.

"I would love to go for a walk," I responded eagerly. It would be dark outside, but the fresh breeze would feel delightful compared to the stale air of the theatre.

Before we left the house, Erik insisted I wear a thick muffler around my neck in order to protect my throat. "If you took a cold now, we would have to postpone your star appearance for two more weeks," he remarked.

I smiled unseen behind the thick woolen folds. I was not used to someone worrying about me, and it seemed Erik was starting to become a bit overprotective!

We took a carriage to the Bois, and I became aware of a developing tension between us. There was silence in the carriage, and I felt as though I was suffocating under his adoring gaze. I had a nearly irrepressible urge to laugh, and the length of the ride seemed unendurable. I could not want to step outside, when there would be open air between us.

I stepped down from the carriage gratefully when we had arrived in the park and mulled over this strange new atmosphere. There was a significance in this outing, the growth of our unusual relationship. In this walk we made the transition from teacher and protégée to man and woman. I was suddenly aware of a quickening in my pulse as he gazed at me. I looked quickly away, unable to cope with this new discovery.

"Christine, you are very uncomfortable," Erik remarked and turned to face me. "What is the matter? Are you unhappy here with me?"

Concern shone in his eyes, and I shook my head. "I am always happy when I am with you," I replied honestly.

"What is wrong, then?" he inquired softly. His voice was gentle and sweet, and my heart pounded wildly as he reached out slowly to push away a straying lock of hair from my forehead. He looked deeply into my eyes, and though I trembled, I could not avoid his gaze. "What troubles you, Christine?"

"I am confused, Erik," I said, dropping my eyes from his intense stare. "My feelings are all twisted and warped; I don't seem to know myself anymore."

"The heart is a complex instrument, is it not?" he replied quietly and drew a small object from his pocket. I regarded him curiously, and he smiled at me.

"There is something I want to give you," Erik began. "It belonged to Shila, my--my mother." He took my right hand and slipped something on my finger.


	12. Chapter 12

I looked down and saw a delicate white ring, carved carefully from a sea shell. "Oh, Erik," I exclaimed, "it's lovely. But isn't this your last memento of Shila? You should keep it."

"I want you to have it," he insisted firmly. "Shila would want you to have it as well. Did you know that you look like her?"

We began to walk around the lake, the silver moon reflecting romantically on the shimmering waters. "Do I really resemble her?"

He nodded. "You both have the same slight, delicate build and flowing raven hair," he said.

"Is that what made you notice me?" I asked with interest.

Erik laughed. "No, your voice haunted me long before I saw you," he replied. "Though to be honest, your fragile beauty did have quite an impact on my heart. I could not get you off my mind." He glanced at me warmly. "I still cannot."

I drew my cloak closer around my shoulders, and Erik led me back to the carriage in concern. "You are cold," he said. "We must return."

I was silent, hoping he did not see the tears falling from my eyes. He loved me so much; I knew he would do anything I ever asked him. There was a subtle tenderness in his every gesture and word, adoration in every gaze. It broke my heart when he spoke to me of love, for I knew how desperately he prayed for me to love him in return. I could not yet fully identify my feelings toward him and therefore could not accede to his wish. I cared a great deal for him and craved his friendship, but I did not know if I loved him otherwise.

When we returned to the gloomy house on the lake, I feigned a headache and retired early. I was filled with conflicting emotions and was nervous about the next day's audition. I slipped into bed and picked up _Jane Eyre_ , hoping that reading a few chapters would relax me. I had not opened the novel since Erik had begun preparing me for the stage, and I was eager to finish the book now that I had a spare moment.

Some hours later, I threw the book aside and cried bitterly. It was not fair for Erik to make me read something that so paralleled my present situation. One question kept jumping into my mind: if Jane Eyre could love Mr. Rochester after his disfigurement, why then could I not love Erik?

The sound of the book hitting the floor brought Erik to my door. He entered the room to find me an absolute mess--hair everywhere, face streaked with tears, and sheets and pillows strewn in utter chaos. "Christine, whatever is the matter?" he demanded in alarm as he hastened to my side.

"Why did you make me read it?" I sobbed and hid my wet face in the pillows.

"What did I make you read?" he asked in puzzlement.

"_Jane Eyre_ ," I said. "Why did she leave him when she loved him so much? If she didn't leave, he would not have had that accident."

"I don't understand the vehemence of your reaction," he remarked as he offered me a handkerchief.

"Don't you see? You made me read this so I would take pity and love you," I answered. "If Jane Eyre could love a man in spite of his disfigurement, surely I could, too."

Erik was taken aback. "Christine, I did not think I was forcing you to read that novel," he said slowly. "Please understand that I had no ulterior motives. I merely wanted to share my love of literature with you. It never crossed my mind that the plot would disturb you."

He was in earnest, and I knew it was unfair for me to blame my emotional state on him. "I'm sorry," I apologized hastily and wiped my face. "I did not mean to accuse you."

"You are a shaking wreck," Erik commented. "Let me go to the kitchen and bring you something warm to drink."

His departure allowed me a few moments to clean up my disheveled appearance. I combed my hair quickly and washed my face, then hastily slipped under the silken sheets as Erik returned.

He sighed with relief when I smiled up at him. "You seem much better already," he said. I was handed a mug of tea, which I drank obediently. There must have been a sleeping drug in the beverage, as I began to yawn after only a few sips. Erik took the empty mug from my hand, and I leaned back wearily against the pillows. My breathing slowed, and I closed my heavy eyelids with a peaceful sigh.

"Rest, Christine. You have a big day tomorrow," he said softly. Very gently, he sang to me, and I listened in ecstasy until the sweet music rocked me to sleep. I was vaguely aware of a light touch on my cheek as slumber overcame me, and I knew that Erik had kissed me.


	13. Chapter 13

My audition was in the afternoon, but Erik insisted on a thorough warm-up in the morning. I was nervous as we went through a few brief arias, for he commented little on my progress. I wondered if he had second thoughts about my readiness for the stage after all.

Finally, he closed the score on the piano and turned to me. "You haven't a thing to worry about," he stated simply. "Your voice is the most exquisite sound to ever have been issued in this opera house."

I was stunned by the unexpected compliment but thanked him gratefully. He glanced at his watch and declared it was time to leave, giving me an encouraging smile. "You'll be fine," he assured me. "I shall be there with you, though unseen of course. Do not be afraid." I sighed, wishing I had an ounce of his courage.

We parted in the foyer of the opera, and I nervously ascended the grand staircase alone. My legs were shaking so violently I marveled at the fact that I did not fall down the stairs. When I neared the top, I clenched the railing with trembling hands and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and imagined myself on-stage, receiving a thunderous ovation. The vision made me remember why I was to forget everything else and concentrate on my voice.

I knocked on the office door with renewed confidence, and the managers greeted me coolly. Monsieur Armand Moncharmin was a tall man with a grey beard, a look of eternal worry etched on his brow. The antics of the Opera Ghost must have taken its toll on his feeble strength, and I made a mental note to warn Erik about him.

Monsieur Firmin Richard was Moncharmin's exact opposite. Short, pudgy, and balding, he preferred to mingle merrily with the patrons rather than bore himself with the opera log. He was also known for his great passion of wine and women, and I leered inwardly as he kissed my hand with an exaggerated flair.

"Charmed to meet you, Mademoiselle," Richard exclaimed delightedly.

"Shall we hurry and get this over with?" Moncharmin interjected impatiently. "I have an endless list of things to accomplish this afternoon."

"Very well, Moncharmin, if you insist." Richard waddled to the piano and seated himself importantly on the bench.

"Our current production is _Faust_ , Mademoiselle," the tall manager informed me. "Do you know the role of Margarita?"

I nodded, and he suggested I sing the "Jewel Song." Richard played a few bars for introduction, and I began the piece without a moment's hesitation. My voice carried delicately through the room, flooding the opera with sweet sound and faultless technique. The managers turned to each other in amazement.

"Good heavens, Moncharmin; she's better than La Carlotta!" Richard exclaimed, his fingers jumping from the keyboard in surprise.

"Mademoiselle, you did not sing like this the last time you auditioned," Moncharmin stammered in shock.

"I have been under the tutelage of a new professor," I explained shortly. My heart was pounding rapidly; I had not even sung through the first verse yet!

The managers looked at each other carefully, and I could see a plan being formed before my eyes. Moncharmin went over to the piano and muttered something to his partner, who nodded vigorously.

"Mademoiselle Daae, the contract of La Carlotta expires in a month. If it is decided not to renew it, there will be an opening for a new prima donna," Moncharmin said at length. "Until then, I regret that we can only place you in the chorus. Are you still interested?"

I nearly jumped for joy. Erik would be so proud! "Yes, Messieurs, I would be grateful to accept any part you assigned me. It has always been my dream to sing in this opera house."

"Very well," Moncharmin replied. "There are rehearsals at seven this evening. You can sign your contract at that time."

"Oh thank you, kind monsieur," I said and curtseyed prettily. As I turned to leave I heard Moncharmin speaking to Richard.

"Charming young woman, isn't she?"

"Quite," Richard responded with an enamored sigh.

I shook off the comportment of the managers and hastened up the stairs. I was to meet Erik on the roof of the opera to tell him the news, but he probably knew already since he said he would be somewhere unseen. I did not give myself time to think about this, however, as I was climbing stairs as fast as I could.

When I reached the roof and saw Erik, sheer happiness overcame me. I ran to him and hugged him impulsively. "I did it; I really did it," I said excitedly.

He removed himself gently from my sudden embrace. "Rest for a moment, Christine. You are all out of breath."

I obediently sat down and was still. He turned from me and looked out over the edge of the roof, staring at the vast expanse of Paris. "You truly astonished those managers," Erik said at last. "You only needed to sing five bars for them to realize how wonderful you are. Imagine if they had heard the cadenza."

I stood and walked over to the edge. "You are awfully quiet," I noted softly. "You're glad, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm very happy for you," he replied and turned to face me.

"Is something the matter?" I asked, noticing he was decidedly uncomfortable.

"Christine, I'm afraid we must part for a while," he said slowly.

"Why?" I inquired fearfully. I wondered if he no longer cared for me.

He sighed deeply. "I have several important contracts I must work on, and you have rehearsals to attend. It seems only logical and somehow necessary to part."

"But, Erik..." I began, but he interrupted me.

"Christine, there are some things you won't understand until later," he stated desperately. I could tell he was torn by this decision, and my protestations seemed to hurt him further.

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked breathlessly, my eyes filling with tears.

Hope flooded his features, and he took my right hand in both of his, looking steadily upon Shila's ring. "If you wish to return, meet me here after the gala performance."

"You will attend, then?" I asked.

"Of course. I shall watch all of your performances. How could I miss the unveiling of my great masterpiece?" He kissed my hand tenderly, and I briefly wondered how I would live two weeks without his companionship.

"Remember that I shall never be far from you. If you ever need me, call for me. I will hear you wherever I am." He stepped back from me, and my lips quivered as he bade me farewell.

"Au revoir, mon ami," I murmured sadly as he left me.

I sat on the ledge of the roof, looking down on Paris. I shivered at the height. The view was dizzying, but the tiny city itself did not frighten me as badly as my silhouetted solitude. Since I had known Erik, I had become a different person. I had grown stronger and more perceptive, learning to see far beyond the surface. Knowing I would have to face the world alone again was a fear I could not yet comprehend.


	14. Chapter 14

Life goes on, I told myself. It was time now to take what Erik had taught me and use it to further the career I had always dreamed of having. I had to be strong and learn to fend for myself. I wondered if this was why Erik had insisted we part. Perhaps I had grown overly dependent on him.

I took a final glimpse at the miniature people below and started my retreat. I would go to my flat and settle myself before rehearsal. I was not afraid of the neighborhood in the daylight, but I made a mental note to be extremely cautious when I went home after practice.

I laughed delightedly when I opened the door to my apartment. Erik had everything prepared for my arrival, remembering to bring some of my clothes from the house on the lake. There was a stack of books on a table, an assortment varying from Shakespeare to Hugo. A note laid on top of the first volume, wishing me good luck and warning me to be careful.

I changed into a fresh gown and brushed my hair. I braided and pinned it in one of the latest styles, aware that I would need to make a good impression in order to earn the respect of the other cast members. I knew there would certainly be some resentment since I had formerly been only a maid, especially from La Carlotta. The massive diva thought very highly of herself, and she would not react pleasantly when she was informed of her new understudy.

The stage was in utter chaos when I arrived for rehearsal. Scene shifters worked frantically to finish painting the new set, leaving trails of fresh paint wherever they went. A group of giggling chorus girls flirted shamelessly with a bassoonist in the orchestra, who was vainly attempting to listen to the concertmaster's instructions. La Carlotta and Carolus Fonta, the opera's lead baritone, fought loudly over the blocking of the first act; their shouts sure to be heard to the very depths of the theatre. Meg Giry and a few of the other ballet dancers added to the confusion by prancing around the stage in their elaborate tutus, working on jetes and arabesques. Upon seeing me, Monsieur Richard smiled and called the inextricable ensemble to order.

"I would like to introduce the newest member of our company, Mademoiselle Christine Daae," he announced. "She is now part of the chorus, in addition to understudying La Carlotta."

A cry of outrage came from the Spanish diva as she crossed center stage, embodying all the traits of a prima donna. Her black eyes snapped angrily, and her brilliant red lips twisted in a sardonic snarl. "This girl is supposed to be _my _ understudy? Why, she's pitiful! How old are you, child? Fifteen?" A ripple of nervous laughter flooded through the cast.

"I am twenty, Señora," I replied coldly.

A strange look crossed Carlotta's arrogant face. "Wait a moment, didn't you used to clean the dressing rooms?" She turned to a cowering Richard in fury. "What is the meaning of this? Doesn't La Carlotta deserve more respect than to be understudied by a maid?"

Moncharmin wiped his brow nervously with a handkerchief. "Señora, I assure you that Mademoiselle Daae is a most accomplished artist," he said.

Carlotta grunted. "Well, it's just lucky for you that La Carlotta does not need an understudy. A professional performs at all times. That miserable wretch will never sing in _my _ place; that is certain."

I sighed unhappily. Erik had not prepared me for the competitive aspect of stardom. I glanced at the other cast members to see if they felt the same as their prima donna. In doing so, I met Meg's gaze. She was looking at me quizzically, and I knew after rehearsal I would have a long explanation to give.

Moncharmin gave me my contract, which I signed with a flourish. He assigned me dressing room number five, and I wondered detachedly if Erik had made that arrangement. I had little time for thinking, however, as the first act of _Faust_ was already underway.

I worked hard, learning Carlotta's role as well as mine. I managed to win a few solo chorus parts, and everyone except Carlotta marveled at my vocal talent. La Carlotta left rehearsal an hour early, declaring she did not need the extra practice. I was glad, as her absence gave me the chance to play the lead.

When rehearsal had finally ended, I conversed politely with cast members, answering their innumerable questions as evasively as possible. I was rescued from interrogation by the costumer, who needed to fit me for my theatrical wardrobe. After a tiring session of pin pricking and clothes changing, I was ready to go home and rest for the dress rehearsals the next day. Meg was already waiting for me in my dressing room, though, anticipating an elucidation for my disappearance.

"You know the truth about the Phantom, don't you?" she attacked me at once, hardly allowing me time to come through the door.

I hung my costume on a hanger in the closet and turned to face her. "Yes, I do. You don't know how wrong you were."

Meg clapped her hands excitedly. "I can't believe it! What's he like? Why does he wear a mask? How did you meet him? Why does he hang around the opera, anyway? Why..."

I cut her off before she could ask me anything else. "If you don't be quiet, I'll never get a chance to tell you anything."

"Okay, I'll shut my mouth," she promised, sensing my own impatience.

"After you warned me not to come here, I came anyway. He was in here, too; only, I couldn't see him. I heard his voice, though, and it is the most beautiful sound in the world. He told me he had been observing me for some time, and he offered to give me voice lessons."

"So that's how you managed to sing like that! Have you actually seen him?"

"Yes. In fact, I even stayed with him in his house underneath the opera. You have heard about the underground lake, haven't you?" She nodded. "Well, he built a house on top of it. I still haven't been able to figure out how he did it. He is a genius, that is certain."

"You stayed with him! But, Christine..."

"Oh, it's not what you think! He saved my life from a trio of street ruffians one evening and brought me to his house in order to protect me. Besides, he has a most astonishing music room. There's an organ, piano, and the score to every opera ever written."

Meg's eyes were wide with disbelief. "But the mask, Christine? Have you ever seen his face?"

I looked down, not knowing how to explain Erik's tragedy. "He is terribly deformed," I replied at last. "He is the gentlest, kindest man I've ever known, but his face is so hideous it surpasses description."

She noted the sorrow in my voice and questioned it. "Do you have feelings for this man? Do you love him, Christine?"

I was silent. "I don't know, Meg," I said hopelessly at length.

"How can you not know if you love someone?" she asked, laughing at my incompetence. She repeated the dreaded question. "Do you love him?"


	15. Chapter 15

"How can you not know if you love someone?" she asked, laughing at my incompetence. She repeated the dreaded question. "Do you love him?"

"You don't understand!" I protested and rose from my chair. "You can never understand how wretched I am right now!" I grabbed my cloak and ran out of the room, unable to deal with Meg's inquisitive tongue. How could she ask me questions like that? It was not fair.

I hailed a carriage and wished I could be rowing across the underground lake instead. The temptation to turn around and go back to Erik was nearly irrepressible, but I stopped myself halfheartedly. I must be strong and learn to stand on my own.

Unwillingly, I found myself pondering over Meg's seemingly innocent question. Did I love Erik? Was this sorrow, this endless ache gnawing at my soul, love? Did the warm rush of euphoria and delight which overcame me upon sight of him signify love? Why was I so heartbroken at our parting? I pressed my ringed hand against my heart. I could deny my feelings no longer.

I made my first public appearance a few days later, earning my very first standing ovation. I only had a minor role, but the newspapers went on to say that I was a sensation with a brilliant future ahead of me. I was in tears upon leaving the stage, overcome with joy and disbelief. Flowers were scattered all over my dressing room, and I hardly had any space to sit. La Carlotta was infuriated, determined to overshadow her new rival. I had already grown tired of the diva's attempts to blackmail me, and I had learned to take her comments in stride. For every mean remark she had made, I now had a dozen roses to diminish it!

I was giddy with excitement and quite unprepared when an unexpected visitor entered my dressing room. Raoul de Chagny stood before me, holding an armful of expensive flowers. An expression of mixed surprise and remembrance crossed his handsome face.

"Christine Daae, you haven't changed a bit since I've last seen you," he said, offering me the flowers.

I was stunned. Did he not recognize me that day on the Opera stairs? "Monsieur, this is certainly a surprise."

"A pleasant one, I hope," he replied brightly. "Christine, there is so much we have to catch up on. Would you do me the pleasure of coming to dinner with me this evening?"

I hesitated. What would Erik think about this?

"You are glad to see me, aren't you?" Raoul asked, concerned at my hesitance.

I looked up at him and smiled. I remembered now how much I had loved him as a young girl, long before our social positions came between us. "I would be honored to dine with you tonight."

We went to an exclusive restaurant in the richest part of the city. Raoul was as charming as ever, his dashing face aglow with a smile I had not seen in far too many years. I had not realized how much I had missed him.

"Christine, you really astonished Paris tonight. When I saw your name on the program, I knew something was wonderful was going to happen. You had always said you wanted to sing at the Opera, and I knew you would someday."

"How have you been, Raoul?" I asked.

"My brother died several months ago," he answered quietly. I was shocked. This meant Raoul was now a count, and the heir to a large family fortune. He was then the most eligible young man in Paris.

"I'm so sorry," I said gently.

"You shouldn't be," Raoul replied, surprising me. "He is the one who told me to keep away from you."

"Keep away from me?" I echoed.

"Yes. You don't know how much I've longed to find you. Do you remember those days we sat by the river? Those were the happiest moments of my life." He looked at me sincerely. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

"What is it you're trying to say, Raoul?" I interrupted, an inexplicable fear beginning to twist in my stomach.

He cleared his throat and set down his glass of Armagnac. "Christine, you've probably realized that I am a count now and therefore considerably wealthy. I could marry any woman in France, but over and over again I find myself thinking of you."

"Raoul, please stop," I begged. Having an elegant young nobleman speak to me in this fashion should have thrilled my starved heart, but strangely his words only caused me pain. "This can't happen."

He was stunned by my interjection. "What do you mean? Is there someone else?"

I sighed. "My career takes up every bit of my time," I explained. "I train very intensely. In fact, I really should be home now. I have rehearsals tomorrow. I thank you for inviting me." I arose from the table, and he stood and grasped my arm.

"I leave for England in a week," Raoul said. "for I must decide whether to sell my brother's London estate or not. Christine, there is only one thing that will keep me in Paris." He gazed at me steadily, but I hardly heard his words for I was deep in thought. In a week I would perform at the gala concert and afterward I would be able to Erik again.

"I can't talk now," I muttered and tried to hurry away. Why did this have to happen? I felt as if I were being torn in two different directions. I was suddenly aware that I would have to chose between the new Comte de Chagny and the infamous Phantom of the Opera, and I knew it would not take me long to make that decision.


	16. Chapter 16

"I leave for England in a week," Raoul said. "for I must decide whether to sell my brother's London estate or not. Christine, there is only one thing that will keep me in Paris." He gazed at me steadily, but I hardly heard his words for I was deep in thought. In a week I would perform at the gala concert and afterward I would be able to Erik again.

"I can't talk now," I muttered and tried to hurry away. Why did this have to happen? I felt as if I were being torn in two different directions. I was suddenly aware that I would have to chose between the new Comte de Chagny and the infamous Phantom of the Opera, and I knew it would not take me long to make that decision.

Raoul again grabbed my arm. "Christine, we've been apart for far too long. Surely you are not so dedicated to your vocation that you would abandon an old friend."

I looked at him incredulously, incensed by his words. "Me, abandon an old friend? What about you? Do you remember deserting me? Oh yes, blame it on your poor, dead brother! Why did you turn away from me several months ago when I was here at the Opera for auditions? Don't you remember? We met on the stair, and I was dressed in filthy rags. You threw me a sou when I recognized you and strode away."

"My God, Christine, that was you?" I ignored his act of innocence and continued hostily.

"As for being dedicated...music is my life. Sometimes I live only to sing, to feel my soul soar and swoop to the very heavens on the wings of my voice. I could never relinquish music, especially for you. If you truly cared for me, you would understand my need to sing." He was silent for a moment, and I began to leave.

Raoul cleared his throat noisily. "I asked you to dinner tonight to see if you would marry me. Evidently, I was mistaken that you might have cared for me for it's obvious that you're infatuated with your music teacher."

I turned toward him, my eyes glazed in shock. "What makes you say that?"

"The way you speak of your 'dedication.' I'm not as stupid as you may believe. Who is this mysterious professor who teaches so much more than arias?" His voice was cruel, and I dodged the question fearfully.

"I admit nothing," I replied.

"Nothing? What you really mean is that you don't want to be known as the maestro's mistress. Am I correct? It's really all right; your dirty little secret is safe with me. I wouldn't dream of telling anyone how the angelic Christine Daae pays for her music lessons."

Anger and disgust overcame me, and I slapped the leer off his boyish face. How dare he insult me in such a fashion! How dare he mock my sacred love for Erik!

"Monsieur de Chagny, I never want to see you again. In all my life I have never been so insulted. How dare you accuse me of being a tramp!" I went to the door and turned before storming away. "You don't deserve me. I'm so glad now that I have the mind and the strength to realize that."

The carriage ride to my flat was a dismal one. I was embarrassed at my scene in the restaurant, but there was nothing else I could think of doing in that situation. It frightened me knowing Raoul had seen through my feelings, and I feared what might become of his knowledge.

My mind moved to thoughts of the week ahead. Soon I would see Erik again, and I would hear the voice that was rapidly becoming dear to me. And in his house on the lake I did not need to make decisions or be afraid, and I never was lonely.

I glanced around my tiny apartment. Yes, I was lonely. I hated being by myself, and that must have been the reason why I had gone to dinner with Raoul. Thinking of the count made me shudder. No matter what he said about his brother, Raoul had deserted me of his own will. It made me angry to think he would dare to come back when I was climbing the ladder to stardom, expecting me to jump at the chance to consort with a nobleman.

La Carlotta, the great professional, came down with a terrible surprise attack of bronchitis the week of the gala. It was uncanny, for Erik had had to do nothing to ensure me a place on the stage. The managers were at my door within hours, begging me to sing at the concert. I agreed eagerly, thankful for the extended periods of rehearsal which kept my mind off other thought topics.

The week passed quickly, and I was well-prepared for my first starring role. My voice was in top condition thanks to Erik, every note crystal clear and wonderfully vibrant. I knew I would make him proud when I stood on the stage of the gilded theatre, and my heart ached as I visualized the tears I knew would trickle down his mask as he watched me.

I stood before the grand mirror, adjusting the skirt of the bejeweled and lacy aquamarine gown I was wearing for the gala. It was the most elaborate dress in the wardrobe Erik had provided for me, the most spectacular gown I had ever worn. I knew that I had to be visually striking as well as vocally in order to impress the creme de la creme of Paris, and as I powdered my flawless makeup, I was certain I had succeeded.


	17. Chapter 17

A knock on my door woke me from my reverie and greatly startled I sent the powder puff flying across the room. I opened the door to find Erik standing in the hall, and without warning my heart leapt into my throat as he entered the room.

He offered me an armful of blood-red roses. "I wanted to have the honor of being the first to bring you flowers this evening," he said hesitantly.

I took them gently and smiled. "Thank you so much," I said sincerely. "For everything, not just the flowers. You don't know how much this means to me."

"There is no one more deserving of this chance than you, Christine," Erik replied softly. I trembled when he said my name, the two syllables resonating on his tongue. How I had missed that sweet voice! "Now everyone will see you shine as the angel you are."

I laid the flowers aside and threw my arms around him. "As long as I shine in your eyes, nothing else matters," I whispered, burying my face in his dress coat and wishing I could remain there forever.

His arms trembled as he held me, but he did not let go. "Do you truly mean that, Christine?" he asked in disbelief.

"You don't know how lonely I've been without you, Erik. I hadn't realized you had become such an important part of my life. I don't think I can live another moment without you."

He was weeping now, as I could feel his soft tears trickling down the back of my neck. I released myself from his arms and removed his mask. Looking him clearly and unwaveringly in the eye, I found myself finally able to utter the sacred words I never dreamed I would say.

"I love you, Erik," I said quietly and kissed his unsuspecting mouth.

The moment I touched his lips I changed from a trembling, frightened young girl to the mature, compassionate woman that Erik needed. I had gained integrity and character, for I knew to be truly worthy of his love I would have to become a better, stronger person. I also understood that to love someone else I needed to first respect myself.

Someone entered the room uninvited, and we turned around to see none other than Raoul de Chagny. He exclaimed loudly at the sight of Erik's unmasked face and drew a pistol.

I screamed and tried to place myself between Erik and the gun, but Erik forced me gently behind him. "Get rid of the gun," he ordered Raoul quietly. "There is no need for violence."

"If you don't let go of her, I'll shoot," the count threatened.

"Raoul, please!" I cried desperately. "Why are you doing this?"

"You've been consorting with a madman, Christine. He goes around pretending he's the Phantom of the Opera, and he has the face of demon, too! Now come to your senses and say you will marry me. I can give you anything you want; what can this corpse possibly offer you? One can't live on music alone."

I suddenly felt the pressure of Erik's hand around my wrist. "Mirror," he murmured.

I instantly understood his plan. We would back up slowly until I was leaning against the mirror, and then we would go through it. Once we were in the secret passageway leading to the underground lake, Raoul would not be able to follow us.

Erik continued to persuade Raoul to put down his weapon, and I began to move backwards. We moved so smoothly and slowly that the count was completely unaware of our action. After what seemed an eternity, I pressed my weight against the mirror.

The force of my weight made the mirror pivot, and I fell into the dark passageway beyond. Erik followed an instant later, and there was the sound of a shot hitting the mirror. I held my breath as I waited for the glass to break, but it must be shatterproof.

Erik quickly fastened the lock on the mirror and helped me to my feet. I embraced him fiercely, knowing everything had almost ended as quickly as it had began.

"If you had gone through the mirror a second later, you would have been shot," I whispered tearfully. "What would have happened if I had lost you?"

He sighed heavily as he stroked my damp hair. "We don't have time to think about things like that, Christine. We must decide what we should do now, for we can't hide here forever."

"Oh Erik, let's go somewhere far away and start a peaceful, new life together," I said earnestly.

He looked at me inquiringly. "What about your career?"

I shook my head. "You know that means nothing to me now."

"Oh, Christine, I could hardly expect you to give up your life for a hideously ugly beast like myself," he stated bitterly. The desperate tone of his voice broke my heart.

I knew I must have looked a terrible wreck: my hair had escaped from its elaborate twist and my thick stage makeup was streaked with tears, but I did not care. I was a woman in love, desiring only to nestle safely in the arms of my beloved forever. I looked into his eyes with all the adoration I held in my young heart and asked if he would marry me that very night.

He whispered his reply with tears in his eyes, and we went to the house on the lake to prepare to leave Paris forever. I thought joyously of the days ahead, where we could experience nothing but divine bliss. At last, I could give Erik's tragic story the happy ending he had hardly dreamed possible.


	18. Chapter 18

Part II

I looked down at the tear-streaked face of Christine. Had she really begged me to take her away from this world, away from all she knew and loved? Had she really said that it was me ME she desired above all else?

Another gunshot against the mirror woke me from my sweet thoughts. I took Christine's trembling, tiny hand in mine and led her away from her dressing room, down the halls and passageways to my secret house on the lake. She followed with light footsteps, her slippered feet somehow tapping in time with the rhythm of my heart. There was no other sound I so desired to hear in my life.

The row across the lake had never seemed so long before, and I knew that each moment that passed could lead us into further danger. "Come, pack only what must have," I said to Christine as I offered my hand to help her out of the boat. "We must make haste."

She nodded and quickly went to her room. I looked through the house, my hands tracing the contours of the organ, the covers of the musical manuscripts, the pages of my books. It all had meant so much so long ago. Now that I had Christine by my side, I did not need any of it, but I could not bear the thought of someone looting it for sport.

Fire, I thought. I'll set it all blazing. No one need find the remnants of the Opera Ghost. No one need know he ever existed. I'll burn it all, a glorious funeral pyre for the finished life of a Phantom.

I heard Christine's dress rustling in the next room and quickly went to mine to pack a change of clothes, mask, and the wedding rings I had safely tucked away. I opened the box which held the rings and fingered them lovingly. Soon, very soon, I would be joined to my bride.

"Erik?" I heard Christine murmur softly from the hall. "I have packed my things. May I help you with anything?"

I turned and looked at the gloriously beautiful woman standing before me. My mind finally arose to the seriousness of the situation at hand. We needed to hurry, and yet leaving this place where Christine and I learned to love was proving difficult. I sighed and closed my bag, then took Christine's from her.

"Wait in the boat," I said. "There is something I must do, and then we will go to the Rue Scribe side and leave this place." She nodded, her eyes wide with curiosity. I kissed her hand and turned quickly back to the house. A few candles were all I needed to take care of the house, and I went back to the boat and Christine, watching the glow of the fire reflect on the leaden waters.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she whispered. "I'm so sorry we have to leave."

I laughed quietly. "My sweet Christine, I'm not sorry to leave! I'm sorry it has to be like this, with such haste and fear. "

"I only want to be with you," she said softly. "But where are we to go?"


	19. Chapter 19

"Where are we to go?" Christine's voice echoed in my thoughts. A very good question, of course. We were fugitives now, running from an uncertain, frightening fate and towards a peaceful new life. I had always lived in the shadows, but now I had Christine to care for and keep from harm. How could I do this and yet let her career blossom? I knew that although she claimed not to need the stage, her voice had so much yet to offer the world.

"For now we will travel," I told her. "Once I sense we are no longer being followed we may settle. Is this acceptable?"

She nodded her darkly curled head. I smiled back at her and rowed the boat to the edge of the Rue Scribe entrance. I helped Christine out of the boat and then walked toward the edge of the wall where a false brick hid a safe. I emptied the contents into my bag as Christine looked on with wide brown eyes.

I smiled at her as I arranged the money. Years of saving could now help me give Christine the life she deserved. I took out the key to the gate and carefully covered my head with the hooded cloak. My love did the same, shielding her raven hair from sight. I unlocked the gate, and we stepped out into the frigid night air.

I spotted a cab nearby and stopped the driver. "To the train station and quickly," I said and handed him a fistful of bills. He greedily took the money from me, and I helped Christine into the carriage. I surveyed the area briefly before boarding the coach myself, checking to see if we were being followed. The cover of darkness served our purpose well, and I sat next to Christine after securing the door.

The ride was bumpy and rough, but Christine didn't seem to mind. She had taken her hood down and again I could look at her beautiful face. A smile crossed her lips. "I'm so happy," she whispered excitedly.

"We have a long road ahead of us," I warned her. "Are you willing to leave France?"

"Leave France??" she asked in surprise. "But I can only speak French!"

"I'll teach you English," I explained earnestly. "We can go to America and start a new life."

"As your student? It isn't proper," she said sadly and hung her head.

"As my wife," I whispered, barely able to say the precious word. "We can marry in France before we leave. Just say the place and we will go."

"Perros," she said suddenly. "I want to go to Perros, to the little church I went to as a child. That is where I first learned to sing, it is only fitting that I marry my Angel of Music there!"

"Then off to Perros," I smiled. I knew she would want to visit her father's grave before we left France, so Perros was already in my plans.

The carriage stopped as we came to the train station. I helped Christine down from the cab and collected our baggage, being careful to watch our surroundings for any suspicious activity. I purchased our boarding passes for the ride to Perros, my masked face hidden by my hooded cloak. I smiled at my bride and led her to our ride out of Paris.

Our private room on the train was comfortably quiet. Christine sat near the window, watching Paris slide away from her view. She still had a lovely smile on her face, and I was pleased that I was making her happy.

Next stop would be Perros…I was about to become a married man!


	20. Chapter 20

_Thank you, faithful readers! I truly appreciate your reviews. They inspire me and keep me going! Thanks especially to – Lady Wen, The Cure, The-Phanatics, and bushes283 who have reviewed thus far!_

_And now…it's time to return to Phantom Memories…_

The piercing whistle of the train jolted me awake. I hadn't realized I had fallen asleep, and my hands grasped instinctively for my mask when I felt a cool breeze upon my face. "Mask!" I muttered and grappled around me. "My mask, where is it?"

"It is here," Christine's soft voice answered. She held it out in her small hand. "It..it fell off when you were sleeping. I was holding it so it wouldn't be lost."

I took the mask gratefully and apologized for my harshness. For a moment I thought Christine had removed the mask, and I did not like the thought of being vulnerable before her. I cursed myself inside for not trusting her and letting my temper appear yet again. What she was doing with a monster such as myself I still could not fathom. Surely there must be a God in Heaven to answer my fevered prayer and let me stand beside her at the altar!

I gathered our things, and we made our way to the platform of the train station. I knew we had to find lodging and then make arrangements for our marriage. Lovingly, I slipped the hood of Christine's cloak over her hair, wishing I could let her be free but knowing I still needed to be careful her safety. Perros was a good distance from Paris, but I could not yet feel at ease.

A small inn near the sea looked promising, and I saw Christine's eyes well up at the sight of the familiar waters. I thought perhaps I could give her some time on her own to wade through her emotions, and I offered to go into the inn and secure our rooms while she stayed at the shore. "Thank you," she said quietly, barely audible. "I can almost feel Papa here with me now."

I kissed her softly on the forehead and watched her walk along the sand. The wind was brisk and whipped her cloak's silken folds around her, her beautiful hair falling loosely in raven waves. She looked as lovely as a mythical sea nymph, and it was hard to turn and leave her even for a moment. Sighing, I grabbed our bags and headed into the inn.

A man in a mask with a swirling black cloak does not exactly illicit the best hospitality, but the power of money and hunger of greed works wonders to even the playing field. I was able to not only rent the best rooms in the house but was also introduced to the local clergyman who happened to be visiting at that time. He agreed to marry Christine and I the following evening in a small ceremony with the innkeeper and his wife as witnesses. I could not believe my luck and was eager to tell Christine. I hurriedly went to our rooms to set our baggage, and was just exiting Christine's room when the innkeeper's wife, a plump woman with iron-grey hair and matching eyes but a pleasant smile, came to the door.

"Monsieur, I beg your pardon for the interruption, but does your fiancée have a dress for the ceremony tomorrow?" she asked.

"A wedding dress?" I replied. "I'm..not sure. I don't know." I had not even thought of needing such a thing. In all my fantasies of Christine and I marrying, she was of course in a wedding dress, but I never thought to purchase one!

"The seamstress in town, her shop has many fine things. Perhaps you wish to surprise your young lady? I can show her the room when she arrives."

"Yes," I agreed. "That would be most convenient. Thank you." I handed the woman some notes and left quickly to get to the shop before it closed. I wished I could have said something to Christine first, but I did want to surprise her and the innkeeper's wife had assured me she would look after her until my return.

It was in the window of the shop that I saw it...a vision of flowing white lace and silk, the dress that would grace Christine's delicate features and make me the happiest man who had ever walked the earth. A girl in the shop gave a small shriek and ran to the back of the building when I entered, her superior came into the room and looked at her in disdain.

"Colette, you foolish girl!" she scolded. "That is not how we treat a customer." The girl whimpered but stayed out of view. "Now, Monsieur," the woman turned to me, her dark features and pale skin reminiscent of Mme. Giry. "What can I help you with? I have not seen you in town before. Are you on holiday?"

I cleared my throat nervously. "Madame, I am going to purchase the wedding gown in the window, what is the cost?"

She laughed greedily. "Oh Monsieur, I do apologize, but that gown is not for sale. It was made specifically for future Viscountess de Sable."

I rose to my full height. "Madame, I assure you I can pay more than what the Viscount. Now, please, what is your cost?"

"It has already been paid for, Monsieur. I have other gowns perhaps you would care to see?"

"This is the dress my bride has chosen," I fibbed, but it was the only dress that would be worthy of my Christine. I threw a small bag of gold coins on the countertop. "Is that enough? I'm sure that is more than has been paid to you."

The shrewd woman opened the bag and counted the coins slowly. She smiled when she had finished. "The veil is extra, however," she responded triumphantly.

I smiled back, fighting the urge to hit the woman and handed her more money. "Colette!" the woman barked. "Wrap the dress in the window along with the lace veil for this 'gentleman'." She turned on her heel. "Then get busy, you have another dress to make!" The trembling young girl appeared yet again to do her bidding, and I felt sorry for her. As she handing me the dress with shaking hands, I gave her a handful of francs.

"Leave this place," I urged her. "With talent like this, you could start your own shop."

"I can't take that!" she said in surprise. I threw another bag of coins onto the counter, similar in size to that I had used to buy the dress.

"Then take this and go." I left the shop with Colette staring after me in shock, hoping the girl would make the right decision.

The short walk to the inn seemed to take an eternity, not unlike the trek to Christine's dressing room from the opera cellars. I smiled at the memory, quickening my pace.

The innkeeper's wife looked troubled when I entered the door. "Monsieur, you have a note," she said and swiftly handed me a piece of parchment.

"From Christine?" I asked in confusion. She shook her head, and I dropped the parcels I was carrying.

With an unsteady hand, I opened the paper and read these words:

_**I win.**_

_**Regards,**_

_**Comte de Chagny.**_


	21. Chapter 21

_Thank you again, my readers! Keep the reviews coming, I treasure each one I receive!_

"DeChagny!" I cursed under my breath.

"Was Christine here?" I growled, turning to the innkeeper and his wife.

"We never saw her, Monsieur," the woman said. "The Comte burst in, flung the note at me, and told me to give it to the man in the mask. When I looked out to the beach, the mademoiselle was no longer there. A carriage was headed north though."

"Where is the DeChagny summer house?" I ordered, thrusting the note in my jacket pocket.

"Their chateau is down the main road, about two miles north of here. No one has been there since Comte Phillipe has passed, however," responded the innkeeper.

"I need a horse," I responded and handed a generous amount of money to the couple. "Now!"

They showed me to the stable, and I quickly mounted a bay gelding, not bothering to saddle the animal. I rode furiously on to my destination, not knowing what I would find in my wake. Had Christine betrayed me and left with the count? "No!" I yelled. She couldn't have. The love I saw in those velvety brown eyes of hers I knew was genuine. We had not come so far to be torn apart so easily. She had to have been taken against her will.

Dark was falling, and I was glad for my exceptional night vision. I had been told that I had eyes like a cat's, and the skill was well used in my search to find Christine. I prayed I was not too late. I knew not what the Comte was capable of.

I tried to stay optimistic, but a gnawing agony in my heart fought otherwise. My beautiful Christine, what has he done with you? I would kill the vile man if he hurt her! Yes, all the anger and hatred I've lived with for an eternity now bubbled up inside me, like an old wound bleeding afresh. For Christine's sake, her happiness and safety, I would kill without a second thought. All the fury I fought so hard to hide inside myself for Christine's sake was now unleashed for the love of the same woman.

I remembered the first time I ever laid eyes on her. She was auditioning for the opera, so terribly awkward and shy. Her voice is what pulled me from the depths of the cellars, I felt my heart freeze inside my chest when the notes hit the air. I carefully peeked out from behind the curtain to see a vision of loveliness, but of such immense sadness I could hardly bear. How could a creature as divine as she sing as if she had no reason whatsoever to live?

I couldn't live myself after seeing her. She did not get the part in the auditions, so I would not have the pleasure of hearing her voice, but I was secretly pleased that she was still working at the theatre. All I could think of during my waking moments was her; her voice, her raven hair, her porcelain skin, her sad brown eyes. I wanted to desperately to hold onto her and take all the sadness and pain away.

I had nothing to offer her, until I thought of my music. Yes, I could help her find her voice, to make her a star as bright as those that shine in the heavens. Music would bring her to me, and each day I prayed that music would be enough to let me keep her.

Without her there would be no more music, I thought to myself. Christine is the blood that flows through my veins. I would go to the ends of the earth to find her, walking through Hell itself to save my angel. I would not let our story end this way.

The DeChagny house loomed before me in its gaudy glory. I saw fresh carriage tracks and horse prints in the mud, and I knew that Christine must be in the chateau before me. I tied my horse to a tree and carefully walked the perimeter of the building, thinking through the best way to enter.

Noticing light shining in a second story window, I climbed up a nearby tree and got as close as I could to listen to what was happening. I recognized the voice of my love instantly and had to steel myself from bursting in the glass to get to her.

"Please let me go!" I heard her plea. "I don't love you, Raoul. I've pledged my heart to someone else."

"Shut up, you bitch!" the Comte hissed at her. "I don't care what you want. Don't you see, this is all your fault? I have you a perfectly respectable proposal, I'm a nobleman for God's sake, and you think you can just turn me down?"

"I don't deserve you, really I don't. I'm nothing but an opera singer," I heard Christine respond, changing her tactic.

"That doesn't matter," his voice softened. "Christine, I've loved you since I was a child. I know you must feel something for me. Surely it won't be that terrible to be with me. I'll give you a good life, we'll go to England and leave this mess behind us."

"Don't touch me!" Christine begged, and my heart lurched. I strained to see what was happening in the window. A branch broke, and I lost my footing, sliding back to the ground and twisting my ankle. I heard Christine scream, a primal fear in her voice, and I got up as quickly as I could, running into the closest door of the house. I continued to hear Christine screaming and crying, and I drew out the Punjab lasso (my weapon of choice) as I followed the sounds of my beloved.


	22. Chapter 22

_Thank you for being such good sports with the two nasty cliff hangers in the last two chapters! I felt so eeeeeeeeevil doing that…but wanted to get you guys hooked! Keep reading and reviewing!_

_Note that I have upped the rating to M…there is violence in this chapter as expected. Raoul lovers be forewarned (if you're still here anyway!)._

The house was dark aside for a few candles lit hastily here and there. I followed the sound of Christine's sobs, my teeth gritted in hatred and loathing. Never before had I felt such an extreme urge to KILL. I took stairs two at a time but was stopped by the feel of cold metal in my back.

"I don't think you need to up there and disturb the Comte and his new bride," I heard a voice say and whirled around quickly, grabbing the gun from his hand.

"Bride?" I hissed. "He kidnapped her!" I flung the lasso artfully in the air, slipping around the henchman's neck before he could blink. "Anything else you wish to tell me?"

The man's dark eyes widened in fear. "Pppppplease, Monsieur! He's out of his mind drunk. He's got her in the first room on the left. He told me to stay here in case you showed up. I know nothing else, I swear!"

I loosened the noose and handed him a large amount of cash. "Can I trust this to see you out of this town, never to show your face again?" He shook his head rapidly, understanding my meaning, and I let him go. He ran out of the house, and I hastened my ascent to the room afore mentioned.

I felt ill as I entered the room. There was Christine, her face reddened from a slap perhaps, her arms tied to a bed and clothing ripped. With his back turned to me was the count, pulling his trousers on in an uncoordinated effort. I had been too late.

"No!" I screamed, the deepest rage ever known to man uttering out in my cry as the Punjab lasso hissed around an unsuspecting deChagny. His pants fell to the ground, and I kicked his bloated manhood which had just gorged on my Christine. He screamed in agony, and I tightened the noose, silencing him forever. His face was still contracted in his eternal scream, and I threw his useless body on the ground as I went to Christine's side.

I untied the rope that held her as gently and quickly as I could, and Christine frantically grabbed at her torn clothing. I gave her my cloak so that she could cover herself and led her to the bathroom so she could wash. I tried not to notice that she was completely silent, tears still streaming down her face. I knew she must be in shock, and busied myself trying to make deChagny look like he hung himself, which wasn't easy with his trousers off! The empty bottles of wine helped make it convincing though, I thought.

I looked around the other rooms and found a simple dress that must have belonged to a maid or servant. It was close to Christine's size, so I knocked on the bathroom door and handed it to her. She accepted it gratefully, though still silent. She looked troubled, and I realized she needed help out of the tattered remains of her clothing.

Awkwardly, I untied the bodice of her dress, looking away so the girl could have some semblance of privacy. As I helped her step out of the skirt, I noticed the streaks of blood down her legs. She followed my eyes, and suddenly the tears started back up again.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered quietly. "I did not want him to. I begged him not to. He wouldn't stop. I—"

I interrupted her, placing my finger on her pale lips. "Hush now. It will be alright. We'll get through this. Let's get you cleaned up, and then we'll go back to the inn. Would you like that?"

She nodded, and I finished helping her dress. I made sure we went a different way out of the room so she would not see the body of the Comte or the bed of tangled, blood-tinged sheets. I saw the bay gelding I had previously ridden still tied where I had left him, and I boosted Christine onto his back, sliding in behind her. I cradled my arms around her, as she seemed so small and fragile, and urged the horse on in a gentle gait.

As we neared the inn, I wondered how I was going to pull my angel from this hell.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Thanks again for your patience, dear readers! Please leave me a review, I treasure each one of them!**_

The ride back to the inn was a long one. I urged my mount to go as fast as safety would allow, not wanting to risk Christine slipping off the bay horse. The air was growing chilly, and I was impatient to get her to the warmth of a fire.

"Erik?" I heard her murmur softly and slowed the horse so I could better hear her.

"Yes? Are you alright?" I worried.

"Are you—am I—are we still to be married?" she asked uncomfortably. I stopped the horse.

"Of course! Why ever not? Unless you don't want to be wed," I replied. I put a free hand on her chin and raised her face to my own, but she would not look me in the eyes.

"But I'm no longer—I mean, I'm…"

I interrupted her. "Nothing has changed, my love. NOTHING. We can be married tonight if that is what you desire. Arrangements are made, I have found your gown, all that is left is for the two of us to make our lives together. DeChagny is no more, we are free. There is nothing left to fear."

"Truly?" she whispered. I nodded solemnly and saw the ghost of a smile appear across her pale lips.

"Let's get back and have a doctor look at you first," I told her and again spurred the bay onward.

We arrived at the inn at last, and I stabled the horse quickly. I led Christine inside, and the innkeeper and his wife rushed toward us. "Monsieur, please send for a doctor," I asked the innkeeper. "Mademoiselle was kidnapped and assaulted. I want her looked at immediately."

"Of course, Monsieur!" the kindly man replied and threw on his coat.

"I will take Mademoiselle to her room, please send the doctor there when he arrives," I said. "Our marriage arrangements are to go on as planned later this evening."

The innkeeper's wife looked surprised but offered to assist Christine with her gown after the doctor left. I thanked her, gathered up the parcels I had thrown on the floor earlier from the dressmaker, and showed Christine to her room.

"This is a lovely place," she said as she looked around the small chamber. "I can hear the sea."

"I am glad you approve," I smiled at her. "Here, these are some things I found for you. I hope they meet your fancy."

"The gown, it is exquisite!" she exclaimed as she carefully fingered the delicate fabric. "But it is too much! All this had to be so very expensive."

"I told you that money is not an issue, Christine. I want to spoil my new wife," I smiled at her. I grew serious and took her hand. "Please sit with me now. I must know what happened and how DeChagny found us."

She placed the dress back into its box and sighed. "It was foolish of us to come here, to Perros. Apparently Raoul guessed that I would come here to say goodbye to my father."

"It is my fault, Christine," I responded. "I should never have left you alone on the beach."

She shook her dark curls. "He would have found us, Erik. It would have never been over."

She began her story again. "Raoul saw me on the beach, and I tried not to let him see that I was afraid. He started talking, and I could tell right away that he was not in his right mind. He smelled horribly of drink. He told me that I had been foolish to leave him, that he needed me to come with him and make things right between us. I told him no, that I did not love him, that all I could ever feel for him was friendship.

"He was so angry, Erik. He grabbed my arm and forced me into his carriage, telling me he would kill you if I screamed. I didn't know what to do, but I feared for your life so I obeyed. He scribbled a note and gave it to his horseman, who took it to the inn. I'm assuming it was for you, but I wasn't sure at the time. Raoul stayed with me in the carriage so I wouldn't run away.

"The ride seemed to be long and short at the same time, long because I was afraid and short because I was trying to think of a way to escape. Raoul said that I was to be his wife now, and that I would learn how to be a proper one. It scared me. I begged him to let me go back, that I wasn't right for him, but it just made him angrier.

"When we arrived at the house, he told his men that we were not to be disturbed and they were to kill anyone that forced entry. He called me his bride, and my heart sickened. I knew what he was going to do then. I tried to struggle, and he tied my hands. I couldn't get away, Erik." At this point she broke down into sobs.

I wanted to kill DeChagny all over again. I did not know what to say, my words had all run dry, all I could do was hold my angel and pray that I could keep her safe from further harm.

We sat like that for a long time, our hearts beating silently together, and our tears mingling as one, only to be interrupted by the doctor knocking at the door. I stood and allowed him to enter, standing outside so he could exam Christine.

When the doctor left a short while later, he announced Christine to be well aside from her bruises and cuts. He gave me a warning that I needed to refrain from "my husbandly duties" until she was more comfortable, and I nearly choked.

The idea that I would violate my own wife on her wedding night!


	24. Chapter 24

_**Trick-or-treat…bonus chapter for you this week!! Thanks for all the messages and reviews! They have truly inspired me!**_

After the doctor had left me barely hiding my anger, I went back to my room to prepare for the ceremony. I found in my baggage a new mask of polished white lacquer, and carefully arranged it on my face after changing into a fresh dress suit. I noticed a mirror in the corner and forced myself to look into it.

"This is for Christine," I told the masked man in the mirror. "She has given me everything, but at what cost? Now I must give her the life she desires and deserves above all. The past is nothing but phantom memories."

Swallowing hard, my heart in my throat, I began to lift the mask so I may look upon my ruined face. A knock on the door stopped me in my tracks, however, as I heard Christine's crystalline voice.

"Erik, I am ready," she said softly. I hastily straightened my mask and glanced into the mirror a final time, praying silently that Christine would approve.

I opened the door and sucked my breath in quickly when my eyes laid upon my beloved in her resplendent gown and veil. The lacy fabric silhouetted her delicate figure superbly, the embroidery adding a touch of innocence and whimsy. I had never seen her look more breathtaking.

"What do you think?" she asked quietly. "Madame LeFevre thought I should pin my hair up, but I knew you'd prefer it down."

"Madame LeFevre?" I questioned, finally regaining my voice.

"The innkeeper's wife, Erik," Christine replied, a smile upon her lips.

To think, I had not even known the name of the innkeeper until that moment! I was still standing stupidly staring at my bride when she put her hand upon my arm. "I think it is time for us to go," she whispered. I merely nodded as we linked arms and walked to the drawing room which had been simply decorated with red roses.

The LeFevres were waiting, as was the clergyman. Together we walked and prepared to join our lives before God. The ceremony was simple and short, and when I removed Christine's veil and looked into her dark brown eyes, I suddenly was no longer her teacher…she was mine.

She took my hands in hers and then stood on her toes to offer me her lips. I kissed her shyly, and then graciously accepted the well wishes of our witnesses. It was Christine who took the lead and led us to her room.

I was sweating profusely behind the mask. I did not know what to say or do, I had not imagined being in the same room with Christine, and yet she seemed to want me with her. She smiled, seemingly sensing my discomfort, and perhaps even enjoying it!

"Monsieur DuBois," (for we had taken her mother's maiden name as I had no last name to offer), "may I ask for your assistance with my gown?"

"In taking it off?" I choked. "I don't think that is wise, Madame DuBois," I replied evenly after composing myself. Surely she must know that dangerous game she was playing.

"Erik, just undo the hooks for me, please!" she laughed. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't tease, not when this isn't the night we had hoped it would be."

"Hush," I said softly. "Turn around, and I'll help you." She stepped before me, and my hands seemed to melt against her lithe form. The torture of being so close to her, and yet prevented from doing anything more, was an exquisite pain.

Her hooks being undone, Christine scampered off to change, and I slipped into my room to put on a dressing gown and pajama pants, taking a moment to calm my racing mind and aroused body. Again I cursed DeChagny for taking what should have been mine and altering the plans of this most cherished night.

When I returned to Christine's room, she was seated at the small vanity, idly running a brush through her dark hair as it rippled down the back of her cream-colored silken robe. "And now what are we to do?" she asked in her quiet voice.

"Now, you rest," I said simply. "Tomorrow we will find a home and start anew."

"Here? In Perros?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"No. We will go back to Paris. There's a stage that is missing its diva."

"Truly? I can sing again?"

"Of course! You have the world at your feet, as I have always known you would. We are safe now." I prayed that our music could be the one thing to pull my angel from the mist and bring her back to me. I did not know what to do should it not.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Turkeys for all! Okay, just a chapter…but hope it will stuff you for a while. Remember, I gobble up all your reviews!**_

Even after the eventful and exhausting day, I still had trouble sleeping. I decided sleep was futile and gingerly slipped out of the bed, being careful not to wake Christine who had fallen asleep beside me.

In my baggage I found the deed to a house I had designed and owned in Paris. I was planning on selling it should the financial need arise, but now decided to offer it to Christine as a home. It was on the outskirts of Paris, secluded in the countryside near a wood. It was not a very big house but could be just the thing for our new start.

My eyes wandered to her sleeping form on the bed. She was so small and petite, child-like really, what was she doing with a man like me? She deserved all the beautiful things in this world, and yet chose me and my cursed ugliness above all else. This girl, this _woman_, was now my wife to cherish the rest of our days.

My breath caught in my throat for not the first time that day. Carelessly, I dropped the deed, and it fell to the ground in a clatter, startling Christine. "Erik?" she asked. "What are you doing awake?"

"I was looking at something, go back to sleep, my love," I said quietly and repacked my baggage.

"At this hour?" she replied inquisitively. "What?"

Having put everything away, I sat down next to her on the bed. "I have a home for us."

She sat up quickly. "Really! Already?"

"Yes, it is one of my designs that I had not sold yet. I hope you will find it suitable."

"I cannot wait to see it. Is it near the Opera?" she asked.

"We can reach it by carriage," I answered. "We will, of course, have a music room so we may rehearse until you are ready for the stage."

"Of course," she agreed. It felt so good to see the stars shine in her eyes again, but it was late and she truly needed sleep.

"We will talk more later, please sleep, my love," I said. She pouted then asked me to sing to her, so I arranged myself next to her and began a lullaby. Before either of us knew it, my angel had fallen peacefully asleep in my lap, and I soon followed into slumber.

The morning arrived all too soon for the two of us, but we prepared ourselves for the journey to Paris with a new sense of purpose. I had yet to grow accustom to the bright sunlight, my wife on the other hand seemed to drink in each and every golden ray. Perhaps one day I too could enjoy the sunshine, for now I was quite pleased just watching Christine aglow.

"Are you staring at me, Monsieur?" she asked coquettishly as I helped her into the carriage. I looked down guiltily as I stepped behind her.

"Only if you wish it so, Madame," I responded. She laughed and offered me her hand, which I brought to my lips gratefully.

"My only wish is for this dream not to end," Christine replied. "You make me feel so safe, so loved. I want to stay in the safety of your arms forever."

"I will do whatever I can to keep it that way," I promised her solemnly. The train ride to Paris was mercifully uneventful, and it was not long before we were hailing a cab to drive us to our new home and new life.


	26. Chapter 26

_**I wish all my readers a blessed holiday season and wonderful new year! Thank you for your reviews and support!**_

It had been a few weeks since Christine and I had wed and moved into our Paris home. Our lives had fallen into a comfortable routine, and I was pleased that I finally could give Christine an ordinary life in an ordinary house. There was no more need to hide in the darkness for either of us.

I was amused as Christine excitedly picked out the furniture and décor for the house with the whimsy of a young child at Christmas. I only asked that she allow me the honor of furnishing the music room. She agreed, being quite busy with the master suite, dining area, library, sitting room, and guest suite.

Needing transportation to and from the city, I found a pair of fine horses and a small carriage to suit our needs. Christine was taken with the creatures, slipping them sweets and petting their velvety noses. The silvery white mare she named Juliet, while the black gelding of course had to be Romeo. She insisted on helping with their care and asked if I could teach her to ride.

Our days were filled with music and riding lessons, while in the evenings we sat by the fireplace in the library and read. I cherished every moment we spent together, afraid I would awaken from this blissful dream at any time.

We shared the master suite shyly, and I was just happy to be in the same room with my angel. We kissed goodnight tenderly and affectionately, and Christine would snuggle into my arms and sleep peacefully. I prayed one day we could move further, that we could share the passion I knew we held inside, but for now I was content and grateful just to be next to her.

One day I awoke alone, and I panicked. As I jumped to my feet, I noticed a note flutter to the ground from the bed. I read it hastily.

_My love,_

_Please don't be worried. I needed some fresh air and am going for a ride with Juliet. Will be back later._

_Your Christine_

I was angry at first, but then I realized that she had been riding for almost a month now. Juliet was a gentle mare, and I knew Christine was a careful rider. Something just felt amiss, and there would be no ease until her return.

Attempting to keep my mind off my missing wife, I decided to work on composing. I had not worked on writing music since we had married, and I was newly inspired with our life together. It was not long before I slipped entirely into my work, losing all sense of time and place. Christine's hand on my shoulder brought me back, and I realized hours had passed.

I turned to kiss her and was shocked to see her pale complexion. "Christine, are you not well? Did something happen on your ride?"

She stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. "I'm just tired, that's all. Do you mind if I lie down for a while?"

"Of course not. Would you like me to read to you?"

"No, I'd rather be alone. Please don't let me interrupt your work. I just wanted to let you know I was back home." She turned and went up to the bedroom. Something was definitely wrong.

I went to the kitchen and decided to take Christine some tea. I brought the tray to the room and was surprised to not find her there. I put the tray on the table and went to the bathroom. I knocked on the door and heard a slight whimper in response.

I forced the door open and found the love of my life lying on the floor barely conscious. "Christine!" I cried and quickly took her into my arms and carried her to the bed.

"I'm so sorry, Erik," she whispered brokenly as she began to stir.

"Whatever for?" I asked in astonishment and began taking her pulse.

"I took the medicine in the vial on the table," she said quietly. "I bought it from a lady at the market."

"Why? What is it?" I picked up the empty vial and tried to decipher the writing.

"It is supposed to terminate a pregnancy," she responded softly and slipped back into blackness.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Thank you as always for your reviews! I've been inspired to give you another chapter. I'd like to hit 100 reviews before the year's end…help me make this goal and I'll reward you with a new, juicy chapter! I know there are a lot of lurkers out there..please leave me a note so I know what you think!**_

"It is supposed to terminate a pregnancy," she responded softly and slipped back into blackness.

"Christine!" I cried and checked her pulse again. It was slow but steady. She appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep.

Relieved that she was merely sleeping, I grabbed the vial and hurried down to the cellars. I was thankful for my upbringing in a gypsy camp where I learned all about herbal remedies; it was here in the cellar that I had my own chemistry laboratory of sorts. It had been some time since I had needed to concoct anything, but I had had the foresight to stock my lab with necessities. If I could figure out the poison, I should be able to conjure up an antidote.

I opened the vial and carefully inhaled the scent from the potion. Recognizing some of the herbs, I began my work. Feverishly I pounded the copper pans on the stove and ground the herbs. I knew every moment counted to get this remedy to Christine in time before it attacked her fragile body.

A foul-smelling, bubbly brew was now before me in the copper kettle. I stirred in some honey to mask the taste for Christine's delicate palate and then poured it in a glass. I hurried up the stairs to our bedroom, hoping I was not too late.

Christine still lay asleep on the bed, her beautiful face as pale as fine porcelain. I raised her head and placed the glass to her lips, pouring the tonic into her mouth. She coughed and opened her eyes.

"Hush, my love. I know this doesn't taste good, but I need you to drink it," I pleaded softly. She swallowed accordingly, her eyes closing again. I laid her head back down and tenderly covered her with the blanket. Her breathing became more even, and I collapsed by her side on the floor in relief, only now able to understand the enormity of what Christine had done.

My angel was pregnant with a child that could not possibly be mine, a child conceived from the most frightening experience of her young life. To make matters worse, she was too afraid to tell me and had tried to "remedy" the situation on her own, nearly killing herself in the interim. My heart panged with sadness at this thought.

I thought at this point in our lives we were on the way to a new beginning, and yet the Comte de Chagny still found a way to infiltrate our delicate paradise even in his death. Because of him, I nearly lost my Christine.

My eyes rested upon her abdomen, where the child conceived in Hell still dwelled. In saving Christine I had saved the child, a child which Christine had wanted to deny existence. Why? I thought. Why had she not told me? Why had she hurt herself in order to spare me pain? I could have helped her prepare a much safer remedy at least.

The night was long as I watched over my wife, my mind conflicting with emotions. I knew what it was like to be born to parents who did not want me, and I did not wish that fate on anyone. I wondered how long Christine had dwelled upon her decision before making that final choice.

As I stared into the dying fire, I knew what I had to do.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Snow Day! Here is a bonus chapter to curl up with on a snowy day!**_

_**Don't forget those reviews! Thank YOU!**_

I went back down to the cellar and began heating pans to create another infusion. I pulled out a book of remedies to make sure I prepared it exactly as specified. I had never made this mixture before, and I knew one wrong step could be lethal to Christine's health in her current state.

The heat of the fire singed my hands as I removed the pan from the stove to cool before administering the liquid to Christine. I straightened up the cellar while I waited and then once more went upstairs.

It was early morning, and Christine was beginning to stir. "How are you feeling, my love?" I asked her and set the vial on the table.

"I feel strange," she murmured, attempting to sit up. "How long have I slept?"

"It's still early," I replied, "but I need you to take some more medicine for me."

"What is it for?" Christine asked curiously as I handed her the glass.

I swallowed nervously, not knowing what her reaction would be. "It's for the child," I said.

"The child? You mean—I'm still—It didn't work?" she stammered.

"What you took made you very sick," I said. "I had to give you an antidote to bring you back to me. This," I continued, pointing to the glass, "this will ensure the child suffers no ill effects from the potions."

"You want this child to be safe?" Christine asked, incredulous. "Even though it belongs to—"

I stopped her. "This child is a part of you, Christine. I cannot turn it away anymore than I could you. If it were your desire, we could raise the child as our own. No one would ever know, and he or she would be safe and loved." I put my hand under her chin and raised her eyes to my own. "My only regret is that you harmed yourself."

"I didn't want to hurt you," she whispered, a crystalline tear running down from her dark eyes. "If all things were right in the world, this baby would be yours. We could be so happy and plan our future as a family. I thought I was taking that away from you."

"Never," I responded vehemently and crashed my mouth to her unsuspecting one. It was a fierce kiss full of fire, passion, and possession. Every raw emotion I had ever felt expressed itself in that moment. Christine was mine, mine alone, and always would be.

She pulled away, breathless and surprised. We stared at each other for a moment, regaining our composures. "You really think we can do this?" she spoke at last.

"Yes, my love," I answered, never more sure of anything in my life.

Christine nodded slowly. She then took the small glass vial still in her hands, raised it to her swollen lips, and replaced it on the table. It was now my turn to be surprised as she moved forward and kissed me as passionately as I had her moments earlier.

After a few blissful minutes, my mind returned to me and I broke the embrace. "You are tired and must get some rest," I said softly, trying to ignore my screaming instincts to never let her go.

"I do not want to rest right now," she replied, her voice deeper than I had ever heard it. "I want to remember our child being brought into a world of love."

"It will be," I assured her, not grasping her words.

"I need you to love me," she whispered.

I was puzzled. She could not possibly be asking what I thought she was. "You know I love you more than life itself."

"No, I want you to love me as a husband loves a wife," she answered, her brown eyes scorching into my very soul with their heat.


	29. Chapter 29

_**Warning: This chapter contains strong sexuality, though I will try not be too explicit. This is my first love scene ever, let me know how I did!**_

_**This chapter is dedicated to the love of my life, whom is my continuous inspiration and joy.**_

"I need you to love me," she whispered.

I was puzzled. She could not possibly be asking what I thought she was. "You know I love you more than life itself."

"No, I want you to love me as a husband loves a wife," she answered, her brown eyes scorching into my very soul with their heat.

I swallowed hard, unable to believe the words breathed by my beloved. There was no misinterpreting the meaning of her bold request, yet I had to be certain.

"Are you sure?" I asked incredulously.

Her bright eyes continued to burn into my own as she nodded. "Please, love me."

There was no more speaking. Suddenly all thought and rationality, all memories and pain, all uncertainties were gone. All that mattered now was that Christine was mine, truly mine, the thrill of that possession driving me on in its urgency.

I brought my lips to hers in a searing kiss, my hands tangling in her hair and pulling her ever closer. The scent of her, the sweetness of her mouth, all these sensations thrilled me to no end. I wanted to know every part of her, to discover every scent, taste and feel.

I felt her take my hand in her tiny one and guide me to the back of her dress. Buttons, buttons…oh so many buttons! I could see her trying to suppress a giggle as I fumbled clumsily trying to unwrap the gift I had awaited so eagerly for her to give. Growling out in frustration, I deftly tore the dress apart, the sound of tiny buttons scattering and clattering along the floor boards.

Christine blushed, the sweetness of her innocence arousing me even further. She rose from the bed, her frayed dress flowing to the ground and leaving her clad in merely a corset, chemise, and pantalets. I could not take my eyes off the goddess who stood before me and went to take her into my arms, only to have her shake her head at me and place her finger upon my lips.

I stared at her, confused. She smiled and began unbuttoning my shirt, deftly but ever so slowly and deliberately. The silk fluttered to join her dress on the floor, her hands roaming my chest. I could not wait to feel her bare body against me!

Time seemed to stand still as we alternately rid each other of our troublesome clothing left remaining. Finally, I laid her down on the bed, my eyes feeding upon her glorious nakedness. I wanted to worship every part of her, losing myself within her soft touch and creamy skin. I kissed a trail of kisses from her lips down her body, she shuddered and wrapped her lithe legs around me. A maiden flush arose in her cheeks as my erection pulsated against her. I could not hold back any longer.

I joined my body with hers slowly, frightened of hurting my angel, and was shocked to feel her move her hips and take me deeper within herself. The world ceased to exist in that moment, I was lost within her warmth and quiet sighs. The rhythm of our bodies defied that of any music ever written, it throbbed deep within us and matched the song within our hearts.

Too soon it was over, our bliss reaching its peak and sending us into a dazzling realm of delight. As we lay together, naked and sated in our passion, I knew we would never be the same.


	30. Chapter 30

_**Thank you for your patience! Yes, the story continues!!! Please inspire me with your reviews! At least look, this story has had over 7,300 hits…so I know you're reading out there…**_

It was early in the morning, yet I was unable to sleep any further. We had spent the majority of the night blissfully unaware of the world, entwined in the rapture of our passion. Now that Christine slept peacefully beside me, my mind weighed heavy with worry of things to come.

I slid out of bed carefully, finding my dressing gown tossed carelessly on the floor and putting it on. I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, thought about reaching for brandy but put the tea kettle on instead. A newspaper from several days ago lay on a side table, and I picked it up to read as I waited for the water to boil.

I rarely read the paper these days, what did Christine and I need to know about the social events going on in Paris? Being isolated outside of the city, however, I occasionally indulged to reunite us with the rest of the human race.

The first few headlines were harmless enough, the same socialites going to what seemed to be the same parties and marrying within their circles. It was the bottom of the front page that jolted me to attention.

"_**Opera Garnier renamed to honor deceased patron Comte deChagny"**_

DeChagny! Damn that ignorant fop, would he continue to haunt us the rest of our lives? The Opera Garnier had been MY home, MY kingdom, and now it was to honor that insipid, spiteful and spineless rapist.

I read through the rest of the article, my anger raging. Since the Comte was the last presumed blood tie to the DeChagny fortune, at the execution of his will the entire estate had been donated to the Opera. It was to honor his fiancée (LIES!), singer Mademoiselle Christine Daae, whom had mysteriously disappeared before her debut performance and had allegedly been kidnapped.

No! No! No! Our secluded, quiet life in the countryside had been ruined. Why did I bring her back to Paris, of all places? How did I fool myself into thinking we could come back to the Opera?

It would not stop, if Christine was supposedly kidnapped she would never be safe here with me. For all I knew, there could be a search party nearby. We had to leave again, I had to find a place to keep her safe.

But where to go? I needed help, I needed someone we could trust. My mind went to the kindly old couple at the inn in Perros, perhaps they could be of assistance. From that point, I was not sure where we would go. London? America? I did not even know what our options would be with a wife soon-to-be heavy with child.

The child. In the midst of the Opera mess, I had nearly forgotten. A child who was the secret heir of the entire DeChagny fortune and lineage. Should the child be male, the only future of the family's name would lay upon his small shoulders.

A small, wry smile twisted at the corner of my mouth as I took the tea off the stovetop quickly so the noise would not wake Christine. This child, this last DeChagny, would be claimed as my own. The DeChagny family would be no more, all at my power. Their rich and titled dynasty was nothing but a pathetic memory.

I set aside the tea for a decanter of brandy, sipping with relish. Revenge would be very sweet indeed.


	31. Chapter 31

_**I have new reviewers!! Woohoo!! I'm so thrilled. Thank you to those who have stuck with me through the story as well! **_

The warmth of the liquor slid down my throat easily. Each sip brought comfort and peace to my muddled mind, and I remained oblivious to the world until I heard Christine's voice drag me back.

"Erik, it's morning, have you been here all night?" she asked, her adorable little figure clothed only in one of my dress shirts. The sight of her tousled hair and flushed face was delicious.

I pulled her closely to me and nuzzled into her neck. "Most of the night I spent with you, my love, need I refresh your memory?" I hoped so.

Christine stepped back. "Have you been drinking?" she questioned, her eyes roaming to the nearly empty decanter next to me on the table.

"I had trouble sleeping," I replied coolly, still trying to grope my incredibly beautiful wife who was not cooperating.

"After our first night together, after everything between us, you go to drink?" Her expression clouded with tears. "I can't even bear to look at you like this."

"Well, that's not a surprise with a face like mine, is it?" I replied, cranky about not having my way. Really, her shouting was giving me a headache.

My headache was doomed to worsen as a resounding slap crossed my cheek. "I don't know what is wrong with you, but you should know by now that your face is not what I was talking about."

The smack instantly put me back in reality. "Oh Christine, what have I done?" I moaned, clutching my burning face.

She softened and stroked the red handprint. "What is wrong?"

I nudged the newspaper over to her and gestured to the article. She looked at me quizzically but her eyes grew larger as she began to read. "Now what do we do?" she whispered and sat in the chair next to me.

"We need to leave," I responded.

Christine shook her head. "No, I don't want to leave. I love our home and our life! I don't want to run away again."

"I don't think we have much choice," I said, wishing we did. "We need to find someone we can trust to help. Perhaps England or America, as we had planned before."

"This is not how I want to raise our child," she insisted. "What if I went to the authorities and explained everything?"

I laughed sadly. "Do you really think they will believe that you willingly chose to be with me, the Phantom of the Opera?"

"It's the truth!"

"Your safety is my priority, Christine. You've been in far too much danger as it is."

"I'm not giving birth on a ship enroute to some distant locale," she persisted adamantly.

I sighed, giving in momentarily. "May I suggest having help at least? I was thinking of the couple at the inn who assisted us in Perros."

"The LeFevres? Do you think they would come all the way here?"

I nodded. "I think they will find the salary quite acceptable."

"May I write to them?"

I nodded again, pleased to have distracted her. I would have to work on a relocation plan at another time. For now I let her scamper off to the study while I went back to bed to rest my throbbing head.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Thanks again for continuing this journey with me. I know the last chapter was short…Erik didn't feel up to much after his hangover!**_

The next few days seemed to move very slowly. Christine was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the LeFevres, and I myself was anxious to have extra help in our home. I needed the additional sets of eyes and ears as well as hands to keep Christine from overworking herself.

She still persistently disagreed on the topic of relocation, and her stubbornness became truly frustrating for me. I dealt with the issue by growing ever more vigilant and overprotective. I did not give her a moment alone, and our horseback rides throughout the countryside had come to an end. 

We did not speak about the DeChagny Opera newspaper article, though it apparently was plaguing both of our minds. There was a definite strain to our relationship as we thought about the situation from different angles. All I could think about was that someone knew something about the count's death and Christine's disappearance, and that someone was likely the henchman I spared and paid to leave on that dark night. 

Music, which had been the foundation of our bond, had become absent during this time. All things related to the opera were silenced. Christine spent most of her time reading in the library, while I furiously drew plans for houses I would never build.

The LeFevres arrived in about a fortnight, and we were relieved to have a detraction from our silence. We gave them residence in the east wing of the house, and it was comforting to have Margarite, an older, experienced woman in the home to take care of Christine. Monsieur LeFevre, or Louis, as we now called him, seemed to be a fine man and knew his way around the stable and the horses.

Our first dinner together was a memorable experience. The elder couple had declined eating with us, the master and mistress of the home, but Christine quickly put all formalities aside and made sure that they knew they were part of our family now. Her eyes shone with a brightness which had been absent days ago, and her face was aglow with what I assumed was impending motherhood. When her eyes met mine over her goblet, their chocolate depths melting into my very soul, my heart soared. I would do anything to keep that look in my love's eyes.

After an evening of listening to the women chatter about everything from babies to decorating, I was impatient to go back to our suite. I wanted nothing more than to have my wife alone again. 

It was Christine who made the first move, kissing me against the wall as we shut our door. I eagerly responded, so grateful to return to the passion which we had quieted since my brandy episode. Clothing was flung around the room in a giggling fervor as we fell to the bed. It was as if neither of us could move fast enough to be again united.

As she lay in my arms afterward, I asked what had changed. "I found your sketches in the study," she said with a smile.

"Yes? What do those designs have to do with anything? I was using them as an outlet only," I responded, surprised.

Christine slipped out of bed and went to her dressing table, where she picked up one of my drawings and handed it to me. I was still quizzical as I looked at it.

"You planned a nursery," she said, pointing to the scrawls. I reevaluated my work, stunned to see this. "You hadn't said a word about the baby, but then you did this, and it's so beautiful."

"I don't know what to say," I managed. I had not been aware of what I had drawn, but it was in fact a nursery. It was an extension of our master suite, with all the frills and conveniences a new mother apparently desired.

"Thank you," she whispered, sliding back into bed and straddling my waist. "I know this is not easy for you. It's not easy for me either. I only want for our child to have the love that we did not have growing up. I don't want to run anymore."

"I know," I replied, kissing her lips softly. I nodded to the paperwork. "I suppose Louis and I shall be busy for a few months making sure all preparations are made." 

Her smile grew. "Also, have Margarite go into the city and pick up any items that may be needed," I added. 

"I already have a list," she smiled. I laughed and pinned my little minx down on the bed. It was going to be a long night.


	33. Chapter 33

_**Greetings, my readers! Happy spring to all!**_

Life in the Dubois household was again sweet. Having the LeFevres join our family was a joy I could not believe we had lived so long without. This kindly couple was just what we needed to solidify our life together and move toward parenthood.

I had purchased the quaint Perros inn from the LeFevres, to be kept as a summer cottage for our use. I fancied the idea of traveling to the seaside with my little family, just as any other man would. It was a far cry from my days in the damp, dark opera cellars, but the transformation was a blessed one. The LeFevres seemed to enjoy our company as well were so much more to us than hired help.

The LeFevres also served as a buffer for us to stay safely in our home. They took care of all the shopping and my business transactions. Newly inspired, I again began selling my architectural designs using Louis as my agent. I was constantly in a state of flurry, using the time I was not working on the nursery to sketch. The demand was welcome; after all, I had a family to support now.

Louis and I worked together on the new nursery, while Christine learned the fine arts of preparing the nest. She tried diligently to knit, but the poor thing had yet to get the knack of it. Still, she would excitedly show me her tangled day's work as we relaxed together in the evenings, and I tried to hide back a chuckle. I could not bear to hurt her feelings.

On a particularly warm day, as Louis and I took a break from our construction on the new addition, the older man surprised me by waxing serious. "You know, Erik, you cannot hide forever," he said as he sat down with his canteen on a pile of lumber.

"Louis, whatever do you mean?" I asked distractedly. Louis wiped the sweat from his brow.

"I mean that you are going to be a father soon, surely you cannot expect to keep your family in hiding for the rest of your lives? It's not healthy for any of you."

"I don't follow you," I responded, perturbed. "I have to protect Christine. The outside world believes she was abducted. I can't have them take her from me."

"It doesn't make sense, Erik. The DeChagny fellow is dead and gone, you have no one to run from now. Christine should go back to Paris and let everyone know she is well. Who would take her from you?"

"You honestly think we can just show up and be accepted?" I snorted. "With this?" I pointed to my face, unmasked in the heat of day. It was only recently that I had taken to removing my mask as we worked. I always made sure to have it on if Margarite was present though. 

"You have a deformity, yes," Louis replied. "That doesn't exclude you from society. People will accept it in time."

"I really don't believe that," I answered. "I had to live most of my life as a phantom, for God's sake."

"Just think about it, Erik. Think about your family. Think of a life outside of these walls, where your wife can sing as she was meant to and you can live without fear."

"I think it's time to get back to work," I stated numbly and walked towards the barn to get more supplies. Could it really be that simple? Was our freedom truly just a few miles away in Paris?


	34. Chapter 34

Thank you, faithful readers

_**Hello again! Please keep reviewing, your notes keep me going!**_

My conversation with Louis continued to haunt me for weeks. I could not help but foster a small inkling of hope, yet it made me feel vulnerable all the same. Everything in our little world could so nearly be destroyed by the wrong decision.

The nursery was nearly complete, Christine was entering her second trimester and gradually losing her early pregnancy queasiness, things were definitely looking up in our lives. Regular visits from a midwife assured all of us that the baby and mother were doing well, but we doted on an easily fatigued Christine all the same. It became apparent that the child would be very much spoiled, especially by its adopted grandparents who had not been blessed with children of their own.

One particularly warm evening, Christine surprised me by sending Louis and Margarite off to the city on errands, leaving us a quiet night alone. She had eagerly prepared the meal herself, showing me what she had been learning from the elder woman. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her newly curvy figure dazzled me in a deep red dress. Fortunately for me it did not take much convincing to redirect our meal from the dining room to our suite, where we later fed each other lazily in the afterglow. As I lie contentedly in our bed, my eyes closing as Christine rested her head upon my shoulder, I never wanted this moment of bliss to end.

"Erik, I have a favor to ask of you," she whispered quietly.

"Hmmmm? What would that be, my love?" Hopefully not a redesign of the completed nursery!

"I'd like to go to Paris," she replied, breaking my sleepy reverie.

I sat up sharply and turned to her. "Why would you need to do that? Surely we have everything we need here."

She wrapped the sheet around her body and went to her mahogany dressing table. Opening one of the drawers, she pulled out a piece of paper and gave it to me. "Masked Ball to Follow Inaugural Gala Event," I read. It was an event to promote the renaming of the Opera. "You want to go to a masquerade?"

"Yes, and I want to sing at the gala. Remember, you told me we would go back to Paris so I could sing again. I think I'm ready now."

"It's complicated, Christine. The event is in two weeks, you have not practiced in months, how can you be ready?"

"You helped me before! This would be the same. Please, let me go to the Opera and speak with the managers. I know they would let me do it, and then everyone would know I am alive and safe. We wouldn't have to live in fear anymore, Erik," she said earnestly.

"Have Louis and Margarite been speaking to you about this?" I inquired.

"A little, why?"

"This conversation just sounds familiar to me, that is all."

"It was my idea, Erik. This would be perfect," she insisted.

I sighed. I could not believe that my wife had played me in this manner. The dinner, the dress…it was all part of her plan! I was mildly annoyed at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made me smile.

"You are a brazen little thing, aren't you?" I said, drawing her to me.

"Will you at least think about it?" Christine replied, leaning in for a kiss.

"No need to think about it. But things have to be done my way."

"And what does that entail?" she asked, her eyebrows raised quizzically.

"First, no singing at that gala." I saw her jaw move to a pout. "No, definitely not. In your condition you have no place in such intense training or the pressure of being onstage."

She crossed her arms. "So then what?"

"We will attend the ball, as you requested."

"And?" she waited.

"We will reveal ourselves at unmasking at midnight, as is custom. You will go dressed lovely as usual, but I will return as the Phantom."


	35. Chapter 35

Thank you, faithful readers

_**Once again we return to the drama of Phantom Memories…**_

_**Btw…anyone out there a fanfiction artist? I'd love to see your renderings of my characters!**_

"We will attend the ball, as you requested."

"And?" she waited.

"We will reveal ourselves at unmasking at midnight, as is custom. You will go dressed lovely as usual, but I will return as the Phantom."

Christine pulled away in surprise. "The Phantom? Erik, I thought that was finished after we said goodbye to the house on the lake? Surely we don't want to bring that back to light!"

"No, my dear, it is perfect." The very idea was filling me with a sense of empowerment. "What would be more fitting than for the Phantom to return to his opera with his bride to claim what is theirs?"

"But it is not ours, Erik," she protested. "This here, this house, this is ours. I only wanted to reveal our marriage so we could finally live in peace with no worries for our future."

"No, this whole situation is wrong. I helped build that opera house, I cannot let it be run in tribute to the arrogant fool who hurt you. It was meant to hold all the beautiful music in the world. You alone should grace its stage with your divine presence."

"But you said I shouldn't sing at the gala," Christine responded.

"No, not at the gala, but you will sing again. You will sing for me alone. All of Paris will weep from the sound of your voice, but they will leave unfulfilled. Your song shall soar to the heavens but always fly safely back to my hand." My voice whispered tremulously to her, my tone soothing, controlling her. It had been a long time since I had used my voice to command her, and I marveled at how easy it was.

Growing drunk with power, I sung my dove to sleep and then retreated to the cellars of our home. I quickly found what I was looking for in a box hidden neatly in a cupboard. Opening it with unsteady fingers, I pulled out the black cape, fedora hat, and the white mask.

"It's been too long," I whispered to myself as I donned the clothing. I changed the flesh-colored mask I wore nowadays to the more mysterious ivory one and topped it with the hat. I had never felt more comfortable in my own skin than I did then.

I sat down at the desk and began a note to my old friends, the managers of the opera.

_My esteemed Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin,_

_I cannot begin to express how saddened I was not to receive a personal invitation to your little gala, let alone the fact that you are rechristening my opera with the name of a criminal and pathological liar. I really find these items unforgiveable._

_I will be attending your party, much to my chagrin, but hope that my presence will be convincing enough for you to see the errors of your ways._

_As for the incomparable Mademoiselle Daae, she is well and will be present for your event. Should anyone attempt to touch a hair of her beautiful head, he will regret it for eternity. I have chosen her as my bride, and her song is mine alone._

_Yours most truly,_

_The Phantom of the Opera_

I smiled and sat back in my chair indulgently. I enjoyed a glass of brandy as I prepared the letter for the post. This gala event was going to be much more interesting than I had originally thought, that was for sure.

I lovingly put away my cloak, mask, and hat and went back upstairs. The LeFevres had since returned home, I could hear them bustling about in their wing of the house. I put my letter to the opera on the desk in my study to mail in the morning and then decided to go to bed beside my already sleeping wife.

When I arose the next day, Christine had already awakened and was brushing her lovely dark hair at her dressing table. She was quieter than usual, but perhaps she was merely excited about attending the masquerade. I kissed her quickly and then hurried with my preparations for the day.

Today the nursery furniture had begun to arrive from Paris, and Louis was instructing the delivery men on its proper placement according to the two ladies of the house. It was a perfect day to escape to the music room and bury myself in pure sound. I had neglected my music for far too long, and now it spewed out of my fingers like lightning across the keyboard of the piano.

I had once thought that love unfulfilled created the most heartwrenchingly beautiful music, but now I was propelled by a new force of love complete. All the beauty of my passion for Christine now echoed with hers in return. Fresh melodies came flowing forth, soothing and inexplicably tender, only to be later harmonized with the fearful tide of possession and control.

Many hours later I collapsed in my chair, exhausted from the cacophony of sound that had poured out of my soul. I felt exhausted and drained, all my resources pulled from me to create the music I had never known existed within. Papers fluttered around me in disarray, tribute to the haste I used to capture the notes that flew from my hands. My eyes closed, and as I was just drifting into a dark, dreamless slumber a terrifying shriek snapped me back to the world.


	36. Chapter 36

Thank you, faithful readers

_**The plot thickens…and this story is going a direction I hadn't planned…I think the Phantom is taking over my keyboard…**_

My eyes closed, and as I was just drifting into a dark, dreamless slumber a terrifying shriek snapped me back to the world.

I stumbled out of the music room, only to bump into Margarite in the hall. "Pardon, Monsieur Erik," she gasped as I grappled to keep my mask on.

"Margarite, is Christine alright?" I managed to sputter.

"Yes, yes, she is alright, a little high strung right now," she replied, hurrying down the corridor. I shook my head and decided to see for myself.

Christine had locked herself in our bathroom I soon discovered. "Whatever is the matter, my love?"

"Go away! I do not want you to see," she sobbed.

I bit my tongue. I was not in the mood for this after being awakened from a moment's respite. When she did not offer to open the door, I simply forced it.

Christine stood in the middle of the room in only her chemise, her wedding dress pooled at her feet. I was shocked to say the least, that dress had been packed away for some time. "What is going on in here?"

She put her head down, sniffling like a child lost in a wood. "I wanted to be the Phantom's bride at the masquerade, but I cannot get the dress on anymore!" This statement warranted a fresh bout of tears, and I held her while shaking my head at confusion of it all.

"I'm sure Margarite can fix it and make it work for you. Surely it is not anything to be so distraught about!" My response was apparently unwelcome, and she pushed away from me.

"You don't understand. Look!" She straightened her stance and suddenly I could clearly see the outline of her growing abdomen. It was the first time I truly had been able to see. If building a nursery had not been enough to drive reality into my unwilling mind, seeing my wife so obviously carrying a child certainly was.

"Did this just happen?" I marveled. "So quickly?"

She stopped crying for a moment to laugh softly. "It's been a few months, but yes, this is the first time I could see the baby. I can't hide it any longer."

"You will be the Phantom's bride," I whispered to her suddenly, my voice husky with overwhelming desire. My need to possess her overpowered all of my senses. "That child should be mine," I growled in her ear, my mouth reaching for her neck.

She tried to pull away from my fierce grip. "Erik, this child is yours, remember? We promised."

"No, it's not mine, but I will make it so." I pulled her tighter, annoyed that she was trying to leave my grasp.

"Erik, you are frightening me talking like this," she whimpered.

This was not going as I intended. Christine was resisting me now, but I knew my music could bring her back into my arms. Oh the joy of being able to use the hypnotic sound of my voice to my whim!

Ever so deftly I soothed her with my song, her eyes closing in unspoken delight. I loved to watch my voice envelope her like a silken cloak, her defenses dropping completely. As I picked up her complacent form and carried her into the bedroom I remembered the night I first carried her to my lair. How I wanted her then! All those months of watching her, shadowing her, needing to possess her…to think of how easily I could have taken her then.

I was entranced by the scent of her, a combination of roses and lavender. Breathing in her fragrance, I kissed her with fierce possession. Every part of her was mine, and I meant to claim each and every one of them. I held nothing back as I tore off her chemise and threw my clothing to the floor.

Her breasts in all their glory called to me, their swollen heaviness begging for my touch. I grabbed them roughly, feeling their new shape, then lowered my mouth and created a path down to her abdomen. Finding the swelling of her pregnancy, I leaned up and prepared to sheath myself in her.

"You belong to me alone," I commanded her and joined her body. Her eyes snapped out of their reverie, but I was overcome with reckless abandon as I thrust every moment of anger, jealousy and rage into the object of my desire.

"Say that you are mine," I urged her as I looked into her fearful face. She whispered her response, and I plunged my way to a staggering climax unlike any other I had experienced.

When my head cleared, my throbbing erection only a memory, I suddenly noticed the blood on the sheets and my wife, who sobbed softly into her pillow. I slipped into the bathroom quietly and proceeded to vomit.


	37. Chapter 37

Thank you, faithful readers

_**So…that was unexpected…we need to get the Phantom back under control! Just a quick little chapter to tie some things up.**_

Never in my life had I thought myself capable of such brutality to a woman, let alone the woman I loved above everything else in the world. With all she had been through, who was I to treat her in such a manner? Was this all because I still could not reckon with the fact that my wife carrying another man's child?

I left the bathroom and prostrated myself at the side of her bed. Christine wrapped herself in a sheet and looked at me fearfully, bile threatening in my throat. "Please don't sing to me," she whispered. "Don't hurt me with your music."

I sobbed brokenly. Never had I believed that music could be ugly in its rage, but its deception had taken control over the demons that lurked within my soul. In minutes I had undone everything I had worked so hard to create. Would Christine ever forgive me?

A wet warmth trickled down the back of my neck, and I raised my head to find Christine weeping above me. "I am unworthy of an angel's tears," I whispered.

To my surprise, I felt her arms wrap around me. "My Erik, where have you gone? What is this darkness that has returned to you?"

Together we cried, our tears mingling in a single stream, washing away the pain I had inflicted. I begged for her forgiveness, and she granted it freely. Gratefully I held her, swearing never to harm her again.

In the aftermath of my disaster, I sent Christine to a waiting tub of bubbles while I straightened the room and laid out a simple dress for her. As she bathed, I slipped back into the cellars and removed the cloak and mask I had caressed so lovingly earlier. I tossed it into the fireplace, remembering months ago when I set fire to the lair under the opera house.

"No one need find the remnants of the Opera Ghost. No one need know he ever existed," I remembered in a whisper. The thought brought back to mind the letter I had written to the managers, and I hurriedly retrieved it so I could add it to the blaze. If Christine wanted to go to the gala, we would go in the manner she thought fit.

I heard Christine call for me, and I trotted up the stairs like a devoted dog. She looked marvelous after her toilet, the new dress softly clinging to her now motherly curves. "Would you like to see the nursery now?" she asked carefully, not knowing how I would react to talk of the child.

I took her hand in mine and kissed it. "Of course, my love," I answered, and arm in arm we walked to the newly furnished room.


	38. Chapter 38

Thank you, faithful readers

_**So sorry for the long wait for this update! I've managed to tear a tendon in my writing hand…so slowly putting out chapters as I can!**_

_**Thank you for your continued support!**_

The two weeks up to the gala past quickly, and I was a bundle of nerves at the mere thought of bringing my wife to the former Phantom's domain. Since the terrible night when I lost control and brought harm to my wife, I was careful to watch my temper, but I dreaded what could happen should I be provoked.

Louis and Margarite purchased for us a pair of masks to wear with our fancy dress clothes. They were not nearly as impressive as my previous masks, but they would do for the evening. I went upstairs to give Christine her mask, and I sucked in my breath deeply as I gazed upon her at the dressing table.

She was attired in a deep purple silk, the material flowing over her as if it were part of her being. The heart-shaped neckline plunged elegantly low, affording me a glance of her luscious curves. Her glorious dark hair was piled on top of her head, but she left curls straying down the sides of her face to soften her face. I was again awestruck by her ethereal beauty, wondering how such a creature could exist in all of her perfection.

"Thank you for the mask," she said softly, taking it from my trembling hand and arranging it over her flawless face. "I am nearly ready, are you?"

I cleared my throat, bringing myself back to my senses. "Yes, the carriage and horses are waiting." I placed the matching ivory mask over my beige mask, but Christine stopped me.

"Just wear your costume mask, Erik. We will leave before complete unmasking. I cannot bear to see you uncomfortable in two masks!"

The light touch of her hand upon my face made my heart soar. In the two weeks since my horrible actions, I had hardly dared to lay a hand on her, and she had been shy to initiate such behavior herself. I put the beige mask on the dressing table as requested and adjusted the thin costume covering.

I settled Christine into the carriage, and then stepped out to speak to Louis, who was situated in the driver's seat. "Louis, if anything were to happen tonight…"

"Erik, Margarite and I will always look after Christine as if she were our own daughter. Whatever happens, she will be cared for. Don't be robbing her of the father to her child though."

My heart deadened at his words, even though he did not know the truth about the parentage of Christine's baby. "Erik, is everything settled?" Louis asked, breaking my silence.

"Yes, yes…we are ready to go," I replied hastily. Before I turned back to the carriage however, I grabbed the old man's hand. "Merci, Louis, for your care and concern of my wife. I hope it shall not be needed, but for her sake I must make sure she is provided for."

Louis dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and I took my place inside the carriage next to Christine. She was aglow with the anticipation of the masquerade, and I felt guilty for ever taking her away from the life she could have had.

"Surely Meg shall be attending?" she asked.

"The little Giry girl?" I responded. "Most likely. I believe her mother is still head of the ballet chorus."

"Madame Giry always frightened me," she admitted.

"She worked you too hard," I said, angrily. "Someone as fragile and delicate as you should never have been cleaning the Opera."

"It brought me to you, though," she whispered and clasped my gloved hand. I could not help but smile back at her.

"Yes, it brought you to me," I replied as the carriage stopped. We had arrived at the Opera, the Masquerade Ball had begun.


	39. Chapter 39

Thank you, faithful readers

_**Every Phantom story must have a masquerade, right? Here it is…**_

I helped Christine out of the carriage and held her arm protectively as I led her back into the Opera that had started it all. The crowds had already gathered, people lining up to take their seats for the gala event. I had reserved Box 5 for us, knowing inside that box was one of my secret passageways. We took our seats, and I heard Christine sigh sadly.

"What is it, my love? Do you not want to be here?"

"I do, but I want to be there," she replied, motioning to the stage.

I took her hand and brought it to my lips. "Someday, I promise. You will have your gala that we worked so hard for."

The lights dimmed, and the music began. I was tense the entire time, it was so difficult to listen to such mediocrity when Christine's crystalline throat was next to me. One aria from her would give the entire audience wings from her heavenly presence and angelic song.

I looked at my bride, who was staring intently upon the stage. Her lips moved with every word, her body moving with the music. I gazed as the music caressed her very soul, the words whispering from her lips becoming clearer. "Sing," I commanded quietly. "Sing as you were always meant to sing. Show Paris what they were truly meant to hear."

Trancelike, Christine rose from her seat, her beautiful brown eyes fluttering closed. With a great breath, her voice joined the voices on the stage, her pitch perfect and tone unmatched. For a moment the orchestra stopped, a frantic murmuring travelling through the house, and then Christine again opened her mouth to sing.

The musicians returned to their places and played their instruments, but the vocalists stood open-mouthed and wide-eyed upon the stage. Her ivory arms raised to the sky, Christine sang as I had never heard her sing before. My eyes welled with tears, and I noticed that everyone in attendance also had tears streaming down their masked cheeks. This gentle diva took complete command of our hearts, giving us a taste of the music that only heaven could offer.

When the song had ended, ever so painful in its beauty, Christine opened her eyes again and turned to me. "I am tired," she whispered and without warning collapsed into my arms. The crowd snapped to attention and chaos ensued.

I laid Christine upon the floor carefully, touching her cheek lightly, trying to bring her back to consciousness. "Monsieur, we have a doctor," I heard a woman's voice say as a man rushed into the box.

"We must take off her mask," he ordered, and I complied, only wanting Christine to awaken. She breathed deeply once she was unrestricted, but still did not open her eyes.

"Christine Daae?" the doctor said in shock as her face was revealed. Christine's picture had been in all the newspapers after she had gone missing from the Opera, I knew she would be discovered as soon as her face was visible.

"She is my wife, Christine Daae DuBois," I replied quietly. My statement did not go unheard, however, as a roar went through the auditorium. "I need to take her somewhere private," I demanded.

"Monsieur, bring her back to her old dressing room, we will clear the way," a woman responded. To my surprise, it was Madame Giry. I nodded to her in thanks and swept Christine into my arms.

Once I laid Christine upon the sofa in the dimly lit room, Madame Giry sent her daughter Meg in with Christine and pulled me out into the hallway so the doctor could exam her. The dreary woman looked at me curiously.

"Monsieur DuBois, you are familiar to me. How did you come to know Mademoiselle Daae?"

It was the point of no return. "I was her tutor," I said softly.

"You are the Phantom?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"I was," I corrected her.

"What of the Comte deChagny?"

I snorted. "He? He tormented and abused my wife, terrified her. He was the enemy, not I."

I stopped as Meg entered the hall. "Monsieur, Christine is asleep, but the doctor wishes to speak with you." My heart chilled as I looked upon her pale young face, and I hurried into the room.

I stopped breathing as I noticed Christine's dress in a bloody pile on the floor. "What have you done to her?" I screamed.

"Monsieur, I believe you wife is having a miscarriage. Has there been any stressful events or perhaps a physical trauma?" the doctor asked in a business voice. I stared at him blankly. "Mademoiselle Giry tried to make her comfortable and changed her clothing. I don't want her moved, she needs to be still and kept quiet until her condition stabilizes."

I nodded numbly as I fell on my knees beside her. I barely heard the Girys bustling about the room, gathering the laundry and bringing warm blankets, and I scarcely noticed the cacophony of voices outside the dressing room of wondering spectators. All I knew was that I had likely taken the life of the child in my wife's womb.


	40. Chapter 40

Thank you, faithful readers

_**Poor Erik and Christine…what will they do?**_

I kept vigil in Christine's dressing room, a dark shadow watching over her still form. Somehow I had the sense to get word to Louis to get Margarite (and my regular mask!) and bring them back to the Opera. The flimsy material of the costume against my skin was driving me mad amongst my sweat and tears, but I dared not remove it here.

Louis arrived as soon as he could with the much welcomed flesh-colored mask, in addition to Margarite and the midwife who had been taking care of Christine in her pregnancy. The women tried to convince me to leave the room, but I was stony to their request. I could not leave my wife's side, not with our whole world at stake.

As I sat in a corner of the room, trying to distract myself from the women examining Christine and giving her elixirs and other remedies, our unusual courtship reeled before my eyes. I saw her bedraggled little form auditioning at the Opera, her surprise and collapse in my arms when I revealed myself to her in this very dressing room, the wonder in her eyes as I showed her the underground lair. Once again I was trembling before her as I offered my mother's ring, so afraid of her rejection and so awed to be accepted.

How could I give this woman the world when I kept tearing it apart from her? How could I be worthy of her undying, gentle affection and underlying fierce passions? How could I make right everything that had turned so wrong?

My thoughts were disturbed by a rasping cough, Christine's cough! I pushed the older women aside and found my love's eyes flickering open. "Where am I?" she whispered hoarsely and reached for my hand. I was only too happy to clasp it.

"Shhh…don't try to speak…you are at the Opera, in your old dressing room in fact. You fell ill," I said softly. She nodded and smiled at me sweetly and serenely. If only I were deserving of her affections!

"Well? She is awake now, can we bring her home?" I asked.

"Yes, I'll have Louis get the carriage, but she is going to need quiet and rest," Margarite replied. "She's not out of the woods yet. She is very frail."

I walked Margarite and the midwife out of the room. "And the child?" I whispered out of Christine's hearing.

"The child is still alive, thank goodness," informed the midwife as she fastened her cloak. "Be sure she takes the elixir I left to give her strength. She must have total and complete rest, though. No excitement of any kind."

I barely heard the rest as I ran back to Christine's side. Tears flowed freely upon our clasped hands. "What is the matter?" she asked with concern.

"I'm just relieved," I replied and smiled at her happily. "Let's get you home now."

_**Author's note – I just couldn't do it! I'm hoping the baby comes soon!**_


	41. Chapter 41

Thank you, faithful readers

_**Baby on the way…**_

The remainder of Christine's pregnancy truly became a confinement for her. In a darkened room she spent all of her time, suffering from headaches and shortness of breath quite frequently. Margarite, Louis, and I tried to do everything as quietly as possible so we did not disturb her. It was an anxious, fearful time, that kept all of us on edge.

During her brief waking hours, I would read quietly to Christine, much like our days in the house on the lake. For most of the time, however, she was kept in a dreamless slumber to preserve her strength. She barely ate, showing no interest in food at all, her small frame growing more frail as even her abdomen grew larger.

She was so thin that while she slept I could easily watch the child moving within her. I was shocked at first, then my fascination overcame me. With Christine fast asleep, I would whisper to this tiny being between us, trying to make up for the attentions his mother was unable to give at this point. I was in awe of how my voice could either stimulate or relax the restless fetus, and often hummed lullabies so that Christine may sleep better.

Letters had begun to arrive soon after the Opera's gala disaster, many asking for Christine to sing at various events. I carefully hid all of these away, not knowing when or if my bride would ever be able to take the stage again. Margarite and Louis kept visitors away, even little Meg Giry from the ballet came to look in on Christine. They graciously accepted gifts on our behalf and wrote the various thank you letters, apparently Christine's story had greatly touched the lives of many theatre-goers that night. I was helpless to do anything except quietly sit in a chair at Christine's bedside and wait.

As the time drew nearer, the midwife would shake her head and mutter to Margarite, who would also speak low so I could barely hear. It did not take much to realize that the birth of this child would be a dangerous time for both involved. The history of Christine's mother dying in childbirth did not help matters.

I could not let myself believe that it was possible Christine could die. This angel had saved me, and now I could only stand before her and watch as her life slowly drained away. The child that she had looked forward to and that had bonded us was silently killing her, taking every ounce of her strength in its own quest for survival.

It was a dreary, cold morning before dawn when the pains began. I had fallen asleep in my usual chair, when Christine awoke me with a dreadful scream. Her eyes were glazed with fear and pain, and I stumbled out of the room to get Margarite.

Louis rushed to the stables to grab a horse and get the midwife, while Margarite ordered for me to get various items throughout the house. I have no idea what any of them were for, but I dare not disobey the woman who was taking care of my wife. Clean linens, blankets, a kettle of water, and more were trudged up and down the stairs.

When I had completed retrieving objects for Margarite, she made me leave the room. I was reluctant, the last thing I wanted to do was leave my pale wife in her time of need, but she insisted I would only be in the way and was not sterile.

The midwife arrived and also pushed me out of the room, so with a final kiss on the moist, sweaty curls on Christine's forehead, I went down to the drawing room with Louis. He began to pour me a brandy, which I tried to refuse.

"Drink it, you need your strength," Louis insisted. "Could be a long wait."

"I should be in there," I argued.

"No, you should not. Sometimes it is best for us menfolk to stay out of the way. Women have been giving birth for centuries, you know."

"But this is different," I insisted. "You and I both know Christine might not be able to pull through this."

"It's in God's hands now, Erik," he philosophized. "You cannot help the situation. You can only wait."

I was about to interject when the sound of a baby crying broke through the conversation. I jolted upstairs, but I again was blocked at the bedroom door by Margarite. This time she held a bundle in her arms.

"She's losing a lot of blood, please take the child and clean her off. We have to take care of Christine now." The babe was thrust into my arms without a second thought, and the door was closed.

I swallowed hard and peered down into the folds of the blanket.

"Shila," I whispered softly.


	42. Chapter 42

Thank you, faithful readers

_**Sorry for the long delay…but the story still continues! Thank you for your patience**_

I gawked helplessly at the little bundle now in my arms. I had thought my Christine had resembled my adoptive mother, but this small infant was indeed the living image of Shila.

It was Louis who brought me out of my reverie, and together we stumbled to the nursery to determine how exactly one washes and dries a baby. Neither of us had any prior experience with children, and we fumbled with the slippery girl as carefully as we possibly could and found a clean blanket in which to wrap her. I was a bundle of nerves as I handled my new charge, still listening to the happenings in the room where Christine was.

Shila tolerated our awkward attentions with scarcely a whimper, but I became nervous as she began to fidget. The child needed to eat, and I knew that neither Louis nor I were lactating. It seemed as good an excuse as any to inquire upon Christine.

Armed with a newborn, I bravely faced my fears and went into the room. Christine lay still upon the bed, pale with her face drawn and her eyes closed. Margarite rushed to me and extracted the baby from my grasp, and I saw the midwife tidying up a pile of bloody linens.

I rushed to my wife's side, relieved to see her chest rise and fall weakly but regularly. "What happened?" I asked quietly.

"The child was breech," Margarite explained. "The midwife had to make an incision to help her, and then we could not stop the bleeding. It has finished for now, but she must be kept quiet."

I nodded and then winced as baby Shila chose that moment to cry. "We must get a wet nurse for the babe," the midwife said. "I believe there is a lady in town who would be willing. Her youngest is about to be weaned and the family can use the extra money I dare say."

"A wet nurse? You mean a stranger to feed our child?" I asked in shock. I did not know such a thing existed. It horrified me.

"Most noblewomen have wet nurses to feed their children," Margarite explained.

"Christine would not want it, of that I am certain." I stood up and went to retrieve Shila before some strange woman's breast was forced into her hungry mouth. "Christine wanted to take care of her child herself."

"Monsieur, you are being unreasonable. Your wife needs to rest, and your child needs nourishment."

"Can the child feed while Christine is sleeping?" I asked, holding Shila protectively.

"I suppose," the midwife replied. "but I do not recommend it."

"Can we try?" I continued. "If the baby or Christine do not flourish than I agree to hire a nurse."

The two women frowned at me but decided to give it a chance. They also tried to remove me from the room, but I stood my ground and watched in wonder as Christine was introduced to her infant.

As the baby latched on, Christine awoke and I marveled as her beautiful eyes met mine. "Boy or girl?" she whispered as she looked down at the child at her breast.

"It's a girl," I murmured, my lips on her forehead. "I'm sorry to wake you, but Shila was hungry."

"Shila?" she asked in surprise. "You named her already?"

"She named herself," I replied, hoping she was not upset that I had taken the liberty. "Shila Christine to be exact."

She smiled her gentle smile, and held the baby closer to her. The midwife and Margarite looked relieved and quietly left the room, leaving us together as a family for the first time.


	43. Chapter 43

Family life was both easier and harder than I had ever imagined

Family life was both easier and harder than I had ever imagined. Christine recovered slowly, leaving Margarite and I handling the baby care. Not that I minded, getting to know Shila was an experience I would never want to relinquish. I only wished that Christine was able to share in these truly precious early days.

The house seemed to come alive with the breath of a new family member. Margarite and I alternated between caring for Christine and Shila, while Louis managed the house and horses. Days moved in a dizzying blur as we took on our tasks, until the midwife returned and determined baby Shila was not thriving as she should. Christine's weakened state apparently had hindered her ability to nurse, and Christine herself needed all her strength to heal.

Frustrated and determined not to have a stranger nurse our child, I decided to delve into some research as Shila took her afternoon nap. I was delighted to find that a man by the name of Liebig had created a substitution for mother's milk, and I sent Louis into Paris in search of the product. Apparently the formula had been in existence for some time, but our old-fashioned midwife was doubtful and too narrow-minded to mention it.

Bottle-feeding led to an entirely new journey with our child. I had never felt so exceedingly NORMAL as I did with Shila curled into my arm, her little finger twisting around mine as I held her. She took to the bottle aggressively, and I wondered in her tiny coos and gurgles. Such sweet music in her simplest sounds made me envious to create something so lovely.

Louis declared that the baby formula cost a small fortune, and I again sent him into the city with more of my blueprints. My designs still sold fortunately, so I did not need to worry about feeding my little muse. I was grateful for the years of exile with nothing to do but create and draw, they had provided me with a large amount of material that sold prettily for quick funding.

On a beautiful fall evening, Christine sat with us outdoors as I tried to convince Shila to go to sleep. The long convalescence had left her thin and pale, but her lovely eyes and delicate features still took my breath away. She smiled at me as I stared at her.

"Let me try holding her, maybe she will sleep for her mother," she said quietly.

I grinned, happy to hear Christine volunteer. Ever so carefully I placed the wriggling babe into her mother's arms. My heart nearly burst to see my two beauties together at last, the picture I had been waiting to see for so long.

"She has grown, hasn't she?" Christine exclaimed softly.

"She should be growing, she eats constantly!" I said in a teasing voice. "She is not too heavy for you, is she?" I added with concern.

"No, no, I want to hold her," she replied. She looked down lovingly at Shila, stroking her chubby cheeks and the soft dark curls of hair and received answering coos of affection. She seemed to revel in her mother's first lengthy moment together. Suddenly, Christine gasped, and my heart froze.

"Erik, what is wrong with our baby?"


	44. Chapter 44

Family life was both easier and harder than I had ever imagined

She looked down lovingly at Shila, stroking her chubby cheeks and the soft dark curls of hair and received answering coos of affection. She seemed to revel in her mother's first lengthy moment together. Suddenly, Christine gasped, and my heart froze.

"Erik, what is wrong with our baby?"

"Wrong?" I exclaimed and leapt from my chair. I pulled the child into my arms and looked her over carefully. I could see the same ten fingers and toes; nothing seemed amiss. "What do you mean?" I asked Christine, who was now tearful.

"Her eyes, Erik," she whispered. "Look at her eyes. They don't follow your movements; they don't move at all."

"What are you saying? That our daughter cannot see?" I was shocked. Such a thing could not possibly be true of our perfect baby.

Christine nodded, her tears now overflowing. I looked back at Shila and stared into her beautiful, vacant eyes. I had been around Shila so much that I had not noticed anything out of the ordinary until Christine had pointed it out to me. Now as I watched, my heart sank painfully into my chest. My daughter did appear to be blind.

As the reality of Shila's blindness fell upon our family, I buried myself in literature about the anatomy and diseases of the eye. I studied voraciously, demanding Louis purchase new books on his shopping trips to Paris. I was determined to find an underlying cause, if not a cure, for our sightless angel.

Christine took the news even harder than I, blaming the poison she took in her early pregnancy. I, in turn, blamed the antidote I had prepared to save them from that same poison. Margarite tried to reassure us that it was God's will that had created our child in this manner, but I could not comprehend why God would punish our innocent child in such a way.

Despite her lack of sight, our baby was a very happy one. She grew and giggled and cooed as any other child her age would do. She was still my special angel, preferring my arms and lullabies for her comforting. I could tell Christine was a bit envious of our father-daughter bond, but she seemed happy that we were close.

In truth, I never thought I could possibly love another human being as much as I loved Christine. What a surprise when Shila entered our lives! I knew there was nothing I would not do for my wife and our daughter. Never before had I felt such a sense of belonging or protectiveness. And so, when I could not discover the answers for Shila's sight, I made the decision we would go in search of a specialist to find them.

Had I not been born with such a facial deformity, locating a doctor who was willing to assist us might have been an easier task. Given the infamous nature of the Opera Ghost and persisting rumors about the Comte deChagny and Christine, I determined it would be much better for all of us if we pursued help elsewhere. When Christine and Shila were strong enough, I began to make travel arrangements. I was not yet sure of where we would go or who would help us, but I knew that I would scour the ends of the earth before I gave up trying.


	45. Chapter 45

_**Dear readers…I have returned after a LONG hiatus…I have not forgotten Erik, Christine, and little Shila and their adventures will continue! Thank you for your patience!**_

_****************_

When I mentioned my plan to uproot our family in search of answers for Shila's eyesight, Christine was not at all willing. "This is our home, Erik. We are all happy here. Why would we even think of leaving?" she asked.

"I need answers, Christine," I told her. "I need to find a way for Shila to see. There has to be someone who can help us."

Christine cradled the child closely, looking down upon her sleeping face and sighing. "This is who she is, Erik. We've had doctors look at her. Why should we put her through more trials? I love our life here. Why can't we just be grateful for what we have and raise our family the way it is? Our children can live in peace here."

Children? My body numbed at her mention of the word "child" in the plural form. After the dangerous pregnancy and traumatic birth experience, the midwife had explicitly instructed that there were to be no more children for Christine. It was a topic that had not yet been bridged between the two of us, and, as we had not been intimate since the birth of Shila, had not been needed to be discussed. I dreaded the thought of crushing Christine's hopes for a larger family, but it was time to inform her now.

"I will not accept that there is not hope for Shila to see," I began carefully, "but I will continue to search near so there is no need to move since you are opposed to the idea."

Christine smiled triumphantly, eager to leave the topic behind. She stood to put the baby in her cradle, and my heart broke as I watched her lay the infant down with utmost grace and gentleness. I took her hand in mine and looked into her dewy eyes. "Christine, we must talk about having other children."

"So soon?" she said, taken aback. "I thought we would wait until Shila was walking at least."

My heart broke again, if that was truly possible. "No, what I meant to say is that there cannot be any other children," I spoke quietly.

Christine turned away, hiding behind her curtain of dark curls. "I don't understand," she whispered, tears evident in her sweet voice. "Is it because you are afraid of another child being blind? Of having a child of your blood? Of passing on your deformity?"

Her words burned me, and I spun her around, gently but firmly. "No, I am afraid of losing you, Christine. Don't you understand? You might not live through another pregnancy, let alone another birth. I will not lose you."

"But what about our baby?" she asked softly, her eyes wet with tears. "Am I to be robbed of the chance to create a child out of love because of what someone else did to me?"

I held her tightly, fiercely. "Shila is our baby. She was brought into this world with love. I would not trade her for anything, but I will not risk losing you again."

Christine slowly removed herself from my embrace. "I am tired; I am going to lie down," she said quietly.

"I do not like hurting you, Christine. Do you understand how much it pains me?" I pleaded.

"Please, leave me. I really would like to be alone right now," she insisted. Her dark eyes were stormy, and I somberly left the room. I wanted to scream and/or hurl heavy objects, but neither of these things would do with a sleeping baby in the nearby nursery.

How it killed me to once again tear down Christine's dreams. It truly was ironic that when I met her all I wanted to do was make her dreams come true, and now all I ever seemed to do was take them away.

Was I afraid of a child of my own blood, especially one that might have my deformity? Of course it had crossed my mind before we even had made love, but upon realizing that we no longer had the possibility, I had set these thoughts aside. I went down to the basement, lost in these raw thoughts. What would my child with Christine be like? Still a picture of my love's beauty and elegance? An incredible musician with boundless talents? Or just another freak lucky enough to have a loving mother to see past a face of horror?

I poured myself a brandy at the thought. God, I wished it was different. Christine and Shila made me feel so normal that I often forgot what a monster I truly was. Oh, Christine, and her achingly beautiful face and body. Could I be any more inappropriate? I visualized her upstairs, crying into her pillow, and yet all I could think about was how graceful and elegant her new, lean body had become under that light cotton dress. Breastfeeding had done even more wondrous things to her bosom than I could have ever imagined, and I ached to touch and kiss and hold.

I took another drink, trying to drown my suddenly intense and throbbing desires. When was the last time we touched in such a way? It was before Christine's near-miscarriage, of course, but I could not remember when. I missed her moans, her whispers, and the musky scent only we knew. What brought about this sudden yearning, this passionate hunger and want? Why now did I want to do all the things that I should not do when trying to prevent pregnancy???

Ah, there it was. Apparently I had trouble taking no for an answer as well. I assumed abstinence was not likely a good option for us; I dared anyone to tell me that I could not make love to my beautiful young wife. There were other things to be taken into consideration as well since I knew Christine had been raised Catholic. This was an important matter we needed to discuss as well, and….soon!

My throat burning from the alcohol, I collapsed into a chair and closed my eyes. I knew that Christine would accept the reality in time, and we would both learn to be content with our little family. How we would keep her safe and yet keep our passions alive were another matter. The image of my beautiful songbird unclothed, dark hair flowing down her back, leaning into my hungry affections again ghosted into my mind. The need overcame me, and I cursed as I realized I had to find a change of trousers.


End file.
